“My time is limited.  I propose shortly to quit Memphis, but I promised you to hear your request, and in order to keep my word I have come to see you; still—­as I have said—­only to keep my word.  The water-bearers of whom you desired to speak to me do not interest me—­I care no more about them than about the swallows flying over the house yonder.”

“And yet this morning you took a long walk for Klea’s sake,” returned Serapion.

“I have often taken a much longer one to shoot a hare,” answered the Roman.  “We men do not pursue our game because the possession of it is any temptation, but because we love the sport, and there are sporting natures even among women.  Instead of spears or arrows they shoot with flashing glances, and when they think they have hit their game they turn their back upon it.  Your Klea is one of this sort, while the pretty little one I saw this morning looks as if she were very ready to be hunted, I however, no more wish to be the hunter of a young girl than to be her game.  I have still three days to spend in Memphis, and then I shall turn my back forever on this stupid country.”

“This morning,” said Serapion, who began to suspect what the grievance might be which had excited the discontent implied in the Roman’s speech, “This morning you appeared to be in less hurry to set out than now, so to me you seem to be in the plight of game trying to escape; however, I know Klea better than you do.  Shooting is no sport of hers, nor will she let herself be hunted, for she has a characteristic which you, my friend Publius Scipio, ought to recognize and value above all others—­she is proud, very proud; aye, and so she may be, scornful as you look—­as if you would like to say ’how came a water-carrier of Serapis by her pride, a poor creature who is ill-fed and always engaged in service, pride which is the prescriptive right only of those, whom privilege raises above the common herd around them?—­But this girl, you may take my word for it, has ample reason to hold her head high, not only because she is the daughter of free and noble parents and is distinguished by rare beauty, not because while she was still a child she undertook, with the devotion and constancy of the best of mothers, the care of another child—­her own sister, but for a reason which, if I judge you rightly, you will understand better than many another young man; because she must uphold her pride in order that among the lower servants with whom unfortunately she is forced to work, she may never forget that she is a free and noble lady.  You can set your pride aside and yet remain what you are, but if she were to do so and to learn to feel as a servant, she would presently become in fact what by nature she is not and by circumstances is compelled to be.  A fine horse made to carry burdens becomes a mere cart-horse as soon as it ceases to hold up its head and lift its feet freely.  Klea is proud because she must be proud; and if you are just you will not contemn the