“An omen!” thought Justinian, as he arose to receive them; “with these I need not fear the machinations of Peacock Andros.”
The two gentlemen, refreshed by their bath and a hearty meal, were now arrayed in loose, flowing robes of white wool, similar to that of Justinian. Crispin wore this antique garb gracefully enough, very evidently used to managing such draperies; but Maurice found them awkward, and as he sat down seemed rather ashamed of the effeminacy of the dress. The King noticed this, and smiled broadly at the Englishman’s want of dexterity.
“You do not like these?” he said, touching his own robe lightly; “but, believe me, they are very comfortable within doors in this climate. When you go out to look at my island, I will supply you with a less embarrassing dress—more adapted for walking and climbing.”
“I like my legs to be free, sir,” observed Maurice, striving to look at his ease in these long white draperies, whereon Justinian laughed again at this naïve confession.
“Yes; we English are an active race,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “and like all clothing to be tight and trig; but indoors you will find these flowing robes more adaptable than a shooting suit would be. When one is in the East, one should adopt Eastern customs. For myself, I have become a Sybarite in luxury since dwelling in Melnos.”
“Where is Caliphronas?” asked Crispin, looking about him for the Greek.
“Caliphronas? Oh yes; I forgot his travelling-name. A count, is he not, of the Greek Empire? He took a fine name to match his fine feathers. Well, Andros has just left me in a fit of bad temper.”
“You do not appear to like Andros so much as you did, Justinian.”
The Greco-Englishman smiled significantly.
“Andros is—Andros,” he replied dryly, “and is anything but reliable. What do you think of my handsome Greek, Mr. Roylands?”