‘Let me hear!’
‘I am only a poor man, earning my bread with the labour of my hands, yet the peace of my home, and the welfare of those belonging to me, are as dear to me as to the noblest,’ said Masthlion. ‘I have a daughter, Prefect; all the more precious to me because she has no sister or brother——’
‘Ah, I perceive,’ uttered Sejanus, with the shadow of a smile curling his lips. ‘Go on!’
‘Ay—it is easily guessed!’ replied Masthlion, ‘and it needs few words. This Centurion of whom I speak, in passing through the town, saw my daughter. Since that time he has come more than once to visit her at my house. She has been called beautiful, Prefect, but she is not his equal. I bade her tell him so, and forbid him. On that he demanded her in marriage; but though she loves him, yet I will be satisfied that he is not one to deal lightly or carelessly by her, or I will not consent.’
‘You have forgotten the name of the Centurion, which is indispensable,’ said the Prefect; ‘and yet I can only guess one.’
‘His name is Martialis.’
‘Even so! The Centurion may well not object to as many journeys as I can give him, and also prefer the land route to the sea—here is the explanation.’
Sejanus burst into a laugh, whilst Afer, who was seemingly immersed in his book, stroked his chin.
‘Potter, you are right,’ continued the Prefect. ‘Men and women, to be prudent, should not marry out of their station. Your daughter must be a paragon of loveliness, or cleverness, or goodness, to have ensnared my Centurion.’
‘She is such as she is, Prefect, and ensnares no one,’ returned Masthlion, with a frown of his shaggy eyebrows.