Agne had looked on smiling, good-naturedly handing the slave the pins and ribbands she had needed, and sincerely rejoicing in her companion’s beauty and delight.

At last Dada had made her appearance in the deckroom and was greeted by many an Ah! and Oh! of admiration from the men of the party, including Medius, the singer whom Karnis had met in the street.  Even Herse, who had received her quite disagreeably on her return from the city, could not suppress a smile of kindly approval, though she shook her finger at her saying: 

“The old lady has set her heart on turning your head completely I see.  All that is very pretty, but all the good it will do will be to rouse spiteful tongues.  Remember, Dada, that you are my sister’s child; I promise you I shall not forget it, and I shall keep my eye upon you.”

Orpheus made haste to light every lamp and taper, of which there were plenty, for the barge was handsomely furnished, and when Dada was plainly visible in the brilliant illumination Karnis exclaimed: 

“You look like a senator’s daughter!  Long live the Fair!”

She ran up to him and kissed him; but when Orpheus walked all round her, examining the fineness of the tissue and the artistic finish of the clasps, and even turned the snake above her round elbow, she sharply bid him let her be.

Medius, a man of the age of Karnis who had formerly been his intimate companion, never took his eyes off the girl, and whispered to the old musician that Dada would easily carry off the palm for beauty in Alexandria, and that with such a jewel in his keeping he might recover wealth and position and by quite honest means.  At his suggestion she then assumed a variety of attitudes; she stood as Hebe, offering nectar to the gods—­as Nausicae, listening to the tale of Odysseus—­and as Sappho, singing to her lyre.  The girl was delighted at all this, and when Medius, who kept close to her, tried to persuade her to perform in a similar manner in the magical representations at the house of Posidonius, before a select company of spectators, she clapped her hands exclaiming: 

“You took me all round the city, father, and as your reward I should like to earn back your pretty vineyards, I should stand like this, you know, and like this—­to be stared at.  I only hope I might not be seized with a sudden impulse to make a face at the audience.  But if they did not come too close I really might . . .”

“You could do no better than to play the parts that Posidonius might give you,” interrupted Medius.  “His audiences like to see good daemons, the kindly protecting spirits, and so forth.  You would have to appear among clouds behind a transparent veil, and the people would hail you with acclamations or even raise their hands in adoration.”