“We are the New Argonauts,” he said merrily, with the affectation of classicism which distinguished him; “we sail for the Colchian strand.”
“It is to be hoped we find no Medea there,” observed Crispin with a smile.
“No; our Medea is no sorceress, but a daughter of Venus, the modern Helen of Troy. Mr. Maurice is her Jason. You, Crispin, are Orpheus.”
“And you, Count?” asked Maurice, amused at this fancy.
“I?” said Caliphronas lightly. “Well, I hardly know. Shall I say Hercules?”
“Or Hylas,” suggested the Rector idly.
“Neither!” interposed Crispin pointedly. “We will take a passenger from another famous ship, and call him Ulysses, the craftiest of the Greeks.”
Caliphronas frowned at this somewhat uncomplimentary remark, but immediately recovered his gayety, and burst out laughing.
“Oh, I do not mind in the least. Ulysses, by all means. After all, he had some very pleasant times with Circe, Calypso, and such-like ladies.”
“You seem to know your Homer, Count,” said the Rector, rather surprised at the classical knowledge of this ignorant young man.