“Aye! like Callista, and Phryne, and the flute-player Stephanion,” interrupted the Roman, shrugging his shoulders.

“How should it be different?” asked the Corinthian, looking at his friend in astonishment.  “Eros has many arrows in his quiver; one strikes deeply, another less deeply; and I believe that the wound I have received to-day will ache for many a week if I have to give up this child, who is even more charming than the much-admired Hebe on our cistern.”

“I advise you however to accustom yourself to the idea, and the sooner the better,” said Publius gravely, as he set himself with his arms crossed, directly in front of the Greek.  “What would you feel inclined to do to me if I took a fancy to lure your pretty sister—­whom Irene, I repeat it, is said to resemble—­to tempt her with base cunning from your parents’ house?”

“I protest against any such comparison,” cried the Corinthian very positively, and more genuinely exasperated than the Roman had ever seen him.

“You are angry without cause,” replied Publius calmly and gravely.  “Your sister is a charming girl, the ornament of your illustrious house, and yet I dare compare the humble Irene—­”

“With her! do you mean to say?” Lysias shouted again.  “That is a poor return for the hospitality which was shown to you by my parents and of which you formally sang the praises.  I am a good-natured fellow and will submit to more from you than from any other man—­I know not why, myself; —­but in a matter like this I do not understand a joke!  My sister is the only daughter of the noblest and richest house in Corinth and has many suitors.  She is in no respect inferior to the child of your own parents, and I should like to know what you would say if I made so bold as to compare the proud Lucretia with this poor little thing, who carries water like a serving-maid.”

“Do so, by all means!” interrupted Publius coolly, “I do not take your rage amiss, for you do not know who these two sisters are, in the temple of Serapis.  Besides, they do not fill their jars for men but in the service of a god.  Here—­take this roll and read it through while I answer the despatch from Rome.  Here!  Spartacus, come and light a few more lamps.”

In a few minutes the two young men were sitting opposite each other at the table which stood in the middle of their tent.  Publius wrote busily, and only looked up when his friend, who was reading the anchorite’s document, struck his hand on the table in disgust or sprang from his seat ejaculating bitter words of indignation.  Both had finished at the same moment, and when Publius had folded and sealed his letter, and Lysias had flung the roll on to the table, the Roman said slowly, as he looked his friend steadily in the face:  “Well?”