"And who is he?"
"Dorcis."
Agesilaus started, and, by the light of the moon, gazed full upon the face of the chief Ephor.
"Thy kinsman, Dorcis? Ah! Periclides, hast thou schemed this from the first?"
Periclides changed colour at finding himself thus abruptly detected, and as abruptly charged; however, he answered with laconic dryness,—
"Friend, did I scheme the revolt of the Ionians? But if thou knowest a better man than Dorcis, speak. Is he not brave?"
"Yes."
"Skilful?"
"No. Tut! thou art as conscious as I am that thou mightest as well compare the hat on thy brow to the brain it hides as liken the stolid Dorcis to the fiery but profound Heracleid."
"Ay, ay! But there is one merit the hat has which the brow has not—it can do no harm. Shall we send our chiefs to be made worse men by Eastern manners? Dorcis has dull wit, granted; no arts can corrupt it; he may not save the hegemony, but he will return as he went, a Spartan."