“I was wrong,” said Maurice to himself, as he watched this perfect girlish picture; “she is not Venus, but Nausicaa, and I am a modern Ulysses at the court of Alcinous.”
“Are you worshipping at the altar of Vulcan, Caliphronas?” called out Crispin to the Greek, who stood almost veiled in the clouds of incense.
“No,” said Caliphronas, walking forward in his stately fashion; “I have no love for the swarthy god of the Cyclops. For me, Venus!”
“Pandemos!”
“Or Urania, I care not which, provided the goddess is herself,” replied the Greek coolly. “Ah, we all worship those old pagan gods, who were but the incarnation of our own desires. You, Crispin, bow to Apollo; Mr. Maurice, you adore the Muse of Sculpture, of whose name I am ignorant; and Justinian loves the supreme Zeus, who gives power and dominion.”
“And I?” asked Helena gayly; “whom do I worship, Andros?”
“The inviolate Artemis!”
“There’s a good deal of truth in what you say,” observed Justinian serenely; “but I should have thought your deity was Hermes.”
The remark was so pointed that Caliphronas winced, but at once smiled gayly and replied in the same vein,—
“Venus and Hermes—Love and Trickery! Well, doubtless the one helps the other.”