"The alabarch should turn his prospective son-in-law into his garden if he would speed the marrying of his daughter," the prince observed.
"He hath the daughter, the garden, and the notion to dispose of her," she answered, "but it is the son-in-law that is wanting."
"But in my long experience with womankind," he replied, "it would not seem improbable to believe that it is the lady and not the lover that makes the witchery of the garden a wasted thing. I have heard of unwilling maids."
"Unwilling in directions," she replied with a smile, "and under certain influences. For if there were any to withstand my conviction, I am ready to wager that there never lived a woman before whom all the world of men could pass without making her choice."
"And perchance," he said promptly, "if there were any to withstand my conviction, I would wager that there never lived a man before whom the world of women could pass without making his choice,—again and again!"
"Which declaration," she responded evenly, "publishes thee a married man; the single gallant declares only for one."
"O deft reasoning! it establishes thee a Roman. What dost thou here, in Alexandria where there is no court, no games, no senators, no Cæsar—naught but riots and Jews?"
"Jews," she said, scanning a rounded arm to see if its rest on the back of the exedra had left a mark on it, "Jews are red-lipped, and eyed like heifers. Sometimes brawn and force weary us in Rome; wherefore we go into Egypt or the East to seek silky and subtle devilishness."
Agrippa moved along the exedra and looked into her eyes. He saw there that peculiar expression which he had expected to find. It was a set questioning, one that runs the scale from appeal to demand—the asking eye, the sign of continual consciousness of the woman-self and her charms.
"Why make the effort? Only tell us of the East that you want us and the East will come to you."