Keraunus desired his daughter to fetch him a cup of wine, but she mixed the juice of the grape with a judicious measure of water.  After he had half drunk the diluted contents of the goblet, with many faces of disgust, he said: 

“Would you like to know what each of your dresses will cost if it is to be in no respect inferior to those of the others?”

“Well,” said Arsinoe anxiously.

“About seven hundred drachmae;—­[$115 in 1880]—­Philinus, the tailor, who is working for the theatre, tells me it will be impossible to do anything well for less.”

“And you are really thinking of such insane extravagance,” cried Selene.  “We have no money, and I should like to know the man who would lend us any more.”

The steward’s younger daughter looked doubtfully at the tips of her fingers and was silent, but her eyes swimming in tears betrayed what she felt.  Keraunus was rejoiced at the silent consent which Arsinoe seemed to accord to his desire to let her take part in the display at whatever cost.  He forgot that he had just reproached her for her low sentiments, and said: 

“The little one always feels what is right.  As for you, Selene, I beg you to reflect seriously that I am your father, and that I forbid you to use this admonishing tone to me; you have accustomed yourself to it with the children and to them you may continue to use it.  Fourteen hundred drachmae certainly, at the first thought of it, seems a very large sum, but if the material and the trimming required are bought with judgment, after the festival we may very likely sell it back to the man with profit.”

“With profit!” cried Selene bitterly, “not half is to be got for old things-not a quarter!  And even if you turn me out of the house—­I will not help to drag us into deeper wretchedness; I will take no part in the performances.”

The steward did not redden this time, he was not even violent; on the contrary, he simply raised his head and compared his daughters as they stood—­not without an infusion of satisfaction.  He was accustomed to love his daughters in his own way, Selene as the useful one, and Arsinoe as the beauty; and as on this occasion all he cared for was to satisfy his vanity, and as this end could be attained through his younger daughter alone, he said: 

“Stay with the children then, for all I care.  We will excuse you on the score of weak health, and certainly, child, you do look extremely pale.  I would far rather find the means for the little one only.”

Two sweet dimples again began to show in Arsinoe’s cheeks, but Selene’s lips were as white as her bloodless cheeks as she exclaimed: 

“But, father—­father! neither the baker nor the butcher has had a coin paid him for the last two months, and you will squander seven hundred drachmae!”

“Squander!” cried Keraunus indignantly, but still in a tone of disgust rather than anger.  “I have already forbidden you to speak to me in that way.  The richest of our noble youths will take part in the games; Arsinoe is handsome and perhaps one of them may choose her for his wife.  And do you call it squandering, when a father does his utmost to find a suitable husband for his daughter.  After all, what do you know of what I may possess?”