“But I wouldn’t vote his way, Puss.”
“Do talk with Father,” she pleaded. “He will make you understand. He talked of it with me” (she said it proudly). “How much rather would he talk with you. He would make it all clear.”
“Now, Sis, it’s you that are butting into a wall. Father and I don’t agree in these matters. You’re a smart little girl, but don’t try to meddle in things too big for you. By the way, when are you to be betrothed?”
She paled quickly and Lycophron laughed. Theria’s reluctance to marriage was a curious streak of idiocy in this quick-witted sister of his. Lycophron thought it comic.
“Great Hermes, what a face you make!”
“Father hasn’t said anything about betrothal, has he?” she queried.
“Well, I won’t say whether he has or not,” he teased, “but I shall remind him. I met Theron the other day, ‘When am I going to get my beautiful wife?’ says he.”
“Oh, Lycophron, please, please!” she begged, all in a tremble. “Don’t remind Father, do not tell him what that man——”
“Why, Sis, you little fool, a betrothal is a fine festival. And you would be coming right down among the men. It would be the merriest time you ever had in your life—and you the centre of it all.”
“Who would want a merry time,” she retorted, “when the Persian is coming to tear us to pieces?”