“If this is a sample of the sort of deportment which my future daughter-in-law is expected to outgrow I might as well be shown just what this kind of behavior is like. Let us acquiesce and go to the little witch, if you do not object.”
“I don’t object at all to going,” his host replied, “but I object to her behavior; I’ll make her smart for it. Come, let us have it over with; I’ll show you a submissive Brinnaria or I’ll know the reason why.”
They stood up and from the open atrium passed into a narrow passage lighted only from the two ends and so into the larger courtyard with gleaming marble columns at each end and long rows of them down each side. The tank under the open sky was much larger than that in the atrium and had two fountains in it. Pigeons cooed on the tiles of the roofs, and two or three of them strutted on the mosaic pavement among the columns.
The party, dumbfounded and stunned, stood without voice or movement, gazing at the picture before them.
The pavement was a cool grayish white in effect, for its mosaic work was all of pale neutral tints. Above it the background was all white,—white marble walls, the white marble polished pillars of the peristyle, white marble entablature above them, the general whiteness emphasized by the mere streak of red tiled roof visible against the intense blue of the sky.
The only color in the picture was to the left of the tank and close to it, where there had been set a big armchair upholstered in blue tapestry. In it sat a tall, fair-haired, curly-headed lad, with merry blue eyes. He wore a robe of pale green, the green of young onion tops. Against that green the red of Brinnaria’s gown showed strident and glary, for Brinnaria was sitting on his lap. His arms were round her waist, hers about his neck. She was slowly swinging her blue-shod feet rhythmically and was kissing the lad audibly and repeatedly. As her elders stood still, petrified, mute and motionless with amazement, she imprinted a loud smack on the lad’s lips, laid her cheek roguishly to his and peered archly at them, saying:
“Glad to see you again, Pulfennius; what do you think of me for a daughter-in-law?”
“I do not think of you for a daughter-in-law,” Pulfennius snarled furiously.
He turned angrily to Brinnarius.
“What does this mean?” he queried.