“It is nothing—­nothing at all—­a pain—­go on,” said Selene.

“Dame Hannah begged me not to let you talk much.”

“Only tell me everything; I will be quiet.”

“Well, you have seen the lovely head of mother that he made,” Arsinoe went on.  “Standing by that we saw each other and talked for the first time after long years, and I felt directly that there was not a dearer man than he in the whole world, wide as it is.  And he fell in love too with a stupid little thing like me.  Yesterday evening he came here with me; and then as I went home, taking his arm in the dark through the streets, then—­Oh, Selene, it was splendid, delightful!  You cannot imagine!—­Does your foot hurt you very much, poor dear?  Your eyes are full of tears.”

“Go on, tell me all, go on.”

And Arsinoe did as she was desired, sparing the poor girl nothing that could widen and deepen the wound in her soul.  Full of rapturous memories she described the place in the streets where Pollux had first kissed her.  The shrubs in the garden where she had flung herself into his arms, her blissful walk in the moonlight, and all the crowd assembled for the festival, and finally how, possessed by the god, they had together joined the procession, and danced through the streets.  She described, with tears in her eyes, how painful their parting had been, and laughed again, as she told how an ivy leaf in her hair had nearly betrayed everything to her father.  So she talked and talked, and there was something that intoxicated her in her own words.

How they were affecting Selene she did not observe.  How could she know that it was her narrative and no other suffering which made her sister’s lips quiver so sorrowfully?  Then, when she went on to speak of the splendid garments which Julia was having made for her, the suffering girl listened with only half an ear, but her attention revived when she heard how much old Plutarch had offered for the ivory cup, and that her father proposed to exchange their old slave for a more active one.

“Our good black mouse-catching old stork looks shabby enough it is true,” said Arsinoe, “still I am very sorry he should go away.  If you had been at home, perhaps father would have waited to consider.”

Selene laughed drily, and her lips curled scornfully as she said: 

“That is the way! go on! two days before you are turned out of house and home you ride in a chariot and pair!”

“You always see the worst side,” said Arsinoe with annoyance.  “I tell you it will all turn out far better and nicer and more happily than we expect.  As soon as we are a little richer we will buy back the old man, and keep him and feed him till he dies.”

Selene shrugged her shoulders, and her sister jumped up from her seat with her eyes full of tears.  She had been so happy in telling how happy she was that she firmly believed that her story must bring brightness into the gloom of the sick girl’s soul, like sunshine after a dark night; and Selene had nothing to give her but scornful words and looks.  If a friend refuses to share in joys it is hardly less wounding than if he were to abandon us in trouble.