The magisterial dignity of the little lady was most delightful. The young sculptor's sensations were divided between interest in the grave subject she discussed and pleasure in her manner. Happening to glance in the direction of the scribe, he found the gray eye of his friend fixed upon him from the group of beauties. Presently Hotep rambled back with an ebony stool and sat a little aloof in thoughtful silence until the visit was over.
When Kenkenes alighted at the door of his father's house some time later, Hotep leaned over the wheel of the chariot and put his hand on the sculptor's shoulder.
"Thou hast met Har-hat and, by his own words, thou hast had some unpleasant commerce with him. What he did to thee I know not, but I shall let thee into mine own quarrel with him. He lays the curb of silence on my lips and enforces the indifference in my mien. If I revolt the penalty is humiliation and disaster for Masanath and for me. I love her, but I dare not let her dream it. The fan-bearer hath greater things in store for her than a scribe can promise. I am thy brother in hatred of him."
The next dawn, even before sunrise, Hotep found Kenkenes once again in the temple before the shrine of Athor. But this time the scribe knelt silently beside his friend.
When they emerged into the sunless solemnity of the grove he turned to
Kenkenes.
"With the licensed forwardness of an old friend, I would ask what thou hast to crave of the lovers' goddess, O thou loveless?"
"Favor and pardon," Kenkenes answered.
"So? But already have I reached the limit. Not even a friend may ask an accounting of a man's misdeeds."
Kenkenes smiled. "Ask me," he said, "and spare me the effort of voluntary confession."
"Then, what hast thou done?"