“You come opportunely,” said their host after the greetings had been exchanged, “for you happen to find me alone with the very daughter of whom you and I were talking. This is Brinnaria.”
“This!” Pulfennius exclaimed. “This the girl we were talking about? Impossible! Incredible! There must be some mistake.”
“There is no mistake,” his host assured him. “This is the girl we were talking about, this is Brinnaria.”
The visitor regarded her, respectfully standing now, her brown eyes down-cast, the flush faded from her olive-skinned cheeks, her arms hanging limply at her sides. She was tall for a girl and while slenderly built was well muscled, a fine handsome figure in her red robe.
“This!” he exclaimed again. “Indeed. So this is Brinnaria. I am very glad to have seen her. And now having seen her, do you not think that our business would be better transacted by us three males together?”
“Certainly, if you prefer,” Brinnarius asserted.
He patted Brinnaria and kissed her.
“Run away now, little girl,” he said, “and wait in the peristyle until I want you.”
Brinnaria, once in the rear courtyard, instantly called:
“Guntello!”