“Quite the contrary,” cried Lucilia. “If you had grey hair, like Nonius Asprenas, I would not waste words on the matter. But as it is, the Gaulish Circe will end by falling in love with you, and then you will be past praying for.” Quintus looked gaily at the girl’s smiling, mocking face.
“You mean just the reverse,” he said. “For I know you regard me as far from dangerous. Well! I can bear even that blow.”
“That is your new mood! There is no touching you in any way. If you had only half as much constancy of mind as Aurelius!”
“Ah! you like him then?”
“Particularly. Do you know it would be delightful if he could remain here a little longer—I mean for six or eight days. Then he could travel with us to Rome.”
“Indeed?” said Quintus significantly.
“Now, what are you thinking of?”
“I? of nothing at all.”
“Go, there is no doing anything with you. Do not you see that I only meant, the long days of travelling all by ourselves—Claudia turns over a book, and you, you old lazy-bones, lie on a couch like an invalid—I find it desperately dull. A travelling companion seems to me to be the most desirable thing in the world—or do you dislike Caius Aurelius?”
“Oh no. If only his trireme had wheels and could travel over land.”