Weary, hungry and thirsty, he leaned in despair against a pillar. A youth came to him and asked, `Why not play on, Akeratos?"And Akeratos meekly answered, `I am no longer skilled.' `Then,' said the stranger, `hire me thy lyre; here is a didrachmon. Iwill play, and thou shalt hold out thy cap and be dumb.' So the stranger took the lyre and swept the strings, and men heard, as it were, the clashing of swords. And he sang the fall of Troy--how Hector perished, slain by Achilles, the rush of chariots, the ring of hoofs, the roar of flames--and as he sang the people stopped to listen, breathless and eager, with rapt, attentive ear. And when the singer ceased the soldier's cap was filled with coins, and the people begged for yet another song.
Then he sang of Venus, till all men's hearts were softly stirred, and the air was purple and misty and full of the scent of roses. And in their joy men cast before Akeratos not coins only, but silver bracelets and rings, and gems and ornaments of gold, until the heap had to its utmost grown, making Akeratos rich in all men's sight. Then suddenly the singer stood in a blaze of light, and the men of Argos saw their god of song, Phoebus Apollo, rise in glory to the skies."The girls were delighted; the Judge pleased both with his own rendering of the legend and the manifest appreciation with which it had been received. For a moment or two all felt the exquisite touch of the antique world, and Ethel said, in a tone of longing, "I wish that I had been a Greek and lived in Argos.""You would not have liked it as well as being an American and living in New York,"said her father.
"And you would have been a pagan," added Ruth.
"They were such lovely pagans, Ruth, and they dreamed such beautiful dreams of life.
Leave the book with me, father; I will take good care of it."Then the Judge gave her the book, and with a sigh looked into the modern street. "Iought to be down at Bowling Green instead of reading Greek stories to you girls," he said rather brusquely. "I have a very important railway case on my mind, and Phoebus Apollo has nothing to do with it. Good morning.
And, Ethel, do not deify the singer on the avenue. He will not turn out, like the singer by the portico, to be a god; be sure of that."The door closed before she could answer, and both women remained silent a few minutes.
Then Ethel went to the window, and Ruth asked if she was going to Dora's.
"Yes," was the answer, but without interest.
"You are tired with all this shopping and worry?""It is not only that I am tired, I am troubled about Fred Mostyn.""Why?"
"I do not know why. It is only a vague unrest as yet. But one thing I know, I shall oppose anything like Fred making himself intimate with Dora.""I think you will do wisely in that."
But in a week Ethel realized that in opposing a lover like Fred Mostyn she had a task beyond her ability. Fred had nothing to do as important in his opinion as the cultivation of his friendship with Dora Denning.
He called it "friendship," but this misnomer deceived no one, not even Dora. And when Dora encouraged his attentions, how was Ethel to prevent them without some explanation which would give a sort of reality to what was as yet a nameless suspicion?
Yet every day the familiarity increased.
He seemed to divine their engagements. If they went to their jeweler's, or to a bazaar, he was sure to stroll in after them. When they came out of the milliner's or modiste's, Fred was waiting. "He had secured a table at Sherry's; he had ordered lunch, and all was ready." It was too great an effort to resist his entreaty. Perhaps no one wished to do so. The girls were utterly tired and hungry, and the thought of one of Fred's lunches was very pleasant. Even if Basil Stanhope was with them, it appeared to be all the better. Fred always included Dora's lover with a charming courtesy; and, indeed, at such hours, was in his most delightful mood. Stanhope appeared to inspire him.
His mentality when the clergyman was present took possession of every incident that came and went, and clothed it in wit and pleasantry. Dora's plighted lover honestly thought Dora's undeclared lover the cleverest and most delightful of men. And he had no opportunity of noting, as Ethel did, the difference in Fred's attitude when he was not present. Then Mostyn's merry mood became sentimental, and his words were charged with soft meanings and looks of adoration, and every tone and every movement made to express far more than the tongue would have dared to utter.
As this flirtation progressed--for on Dora's part it was only vanity and flirtation--Ethel grew more and more uneasy. She almost wished for some trifling overt act which would give her an excuse for warning Dora;and one day, after three weeks of such philandering, the opportunity came.
"I think you permit Fred Mostyn to take too much liberty with you, Dora," she said as soon as they were in Dora's parlor, and as she spoke she threw off her coat in a temper which effectively emphasized the words.
"I have been expecting this ill-nature, Ethel. You were cross all the time we were at lunch. You spoiled all our pleasure Pray, what have I been doing wrong with Fred Mostyn?""It was Fred who did wrong. His compliments to you were outrageous. He has no right to say such things, and you have no right to listen to them.""I am not to blame if he compliments me instead of you. He was simply polite, but then it was to the wrong person.""Of course it was. Such politeness he had no right to offer you.""It would have been quite proper if offered you, I suppose?""It would not. It would have been a great impertinence. I have given him neither claim nor privilege to address me as `My lovely Ethel!' He called you many times `My lovely Dora!' You are not his lovely Dora. When he put on your coat, he drew you closer than was proper; and I saw him take your hand and hold it in a clasp--not necessary.""Why do you listen and watch? It is vulgar.
