“Oh! The mainlands or the islands?”
“The latter.”
“In that case, I know where you are going,” said Crispin, carefully shaking the ashes out of his pipe; “your destination is the Island of Melnos.”
“It is,” replied Maurice in some surprise. “Do you know Melnos?”
“Very well. I also know the woman you are going to see.”
“Helena? How do you know that? I have told you nothing about it.”
“No; but Caliphronas mentioned something about your spiritual passion for that picture.”
This was mere guess-work, as Caliphronas had mentioned nothing of the sort; but Crispin was so well aware of the deep game which the Greek was playing, that he had no difficulty in arriving at a fair conclusion concerning his tactics. Maurice was, however, ignorant of Crispin’s knowledge, and at once assumed that Caliphronas had been discussing his passion for this pictured Helena with the poet, perhaps laughing at it, and his pride was up in arms at once.
“Caliphronas has no right to speak to you about my private affairs,” he said angrily. “I intended to tell you myself, but now he has forestalled me. I did not know he was such a gossip.”
“Nor is he. I said he told me, and so he did, indirectly; but if I did not know Caliphronas, Helena, and Melnos, I would still be in the dark concerning your projected journey.”