“Until other more precious ones cast it into oblivion,” observed Althea.  “Let me see, Hermon:  ivy and roses.  The former is lasting, but the roses—­” She shook her finger in roguish menace at the sculptor as she spoke.

“The roses,” Proclus broke in again, “are of course the most welcome to our young friend from such a hand; yet these flowers of the goddess of Beauty have little in common with his art, which is hostile to beauty.  Still, I do not know what wreath will be offered to the new tendency with which he surprised us.”

At this Hermon raised his head higher, and answered sharply:  “Doubtless there must have been few of them, since you, who are so often among the judges, do not know them.  At any rate, those which justice bestows have hitherto been lacking.”

“I should deplore that,” replied Proclus, stroking his sharp chin with his thumb and forefinger; “but I fear that our beautiful Nike also cared little for this lofty virtue of the judge in the last coronation.  However, her immortal model lacks it often enough.”

“Because she is a woman,” said one of the young officers, laughing; and another added gaily:  “That very thing may be acceptable to us soldiers.  For my part, I think everything about the goddess of Victory is beautiful and just, that she may remain graciously disposed toward us.  Nay, I accuse the noble Althea of withholding from Nike, in her personation, her special ornament—­her swift, powerful wings.”

“She gave those to Eros, to speed his flight,” laughed Proclus, casting a meaning look at Althea and Hermon.

No one failed to notice that this jest alluded to the love which seemed to have been awakened in the sculptor as quickly as in the personator of the goddess of Victory, and, while it excited the merriment of the others, the blood mounted into Hermon’s cheeks; but Myrtilus perceived what was passing in the mind of his irritable friend, and, as the grammateus praised Nike because in this coronation she had omitted the laurel, the fair-haired Greek interrupted him with the exclamation: 

“Quite right, noble Proclus, the grave laurel does not suit our gay pastime; but roses belong to the artist everywhere, and are always welcome to him.  The more, the better!”

“Then we will wait till the laurel is distributed in some other place,” replied the grammateus; and Myrtilus quickly added, “I will answer for it that Hermon does not leave it empty-handed.”

“No one will greet the work which brings your friend the wreath of victory with warmer joy,” Proclus protested.  “But, if I am correctly informed, yonder house hides completed treasures whose inspection would give the fitting consecration to this happy meeting.  Do you know what an exquisite effect gold and ivory statues produce in a full glow of lamplight?  I first learned it a short time ago at the court of King Antiochus.  There is no lack of lights here.  What do you say, gentlemen?  Will you not have the studios lighted till the rooms are as bright as day, and add a noble enjoyment of art to the pleasures of this wonderful night?”