“There is no necessity to threaten without cause,” replied Justinian, bridling his anger at the insolence of the Count; “you will have both Helena and Melnos, but before announcing this publicly, I wish to wait until after the Dionysia.”
“Very well,” answered Caliphronas, turning on his heel; “a week or so will make no difference to me. But when I am publicly acknowledged as your son-in-law and successor, the first thing I will do will be to turn Crispin and this insolent Englishman out of the island.”
“Well, well, we’ll see about that,” said Justinian, with great indifference; “wait till after the Dionysia.”
After this conversation. Caliphronas went away perfectly satisfied that everything was going in his favor, which was extremely foolish, as he might have guessed something was wrong from the unnatural calmness of Justinian. Formerly the old Demarch had been given to outbursts of fiery wrath when his will was crossed, however slightly; but now he bore the insolence of the Greek so quietly, that a less astute man than Caliphronas would have been placed on his guard by this unusual suavity. The Count, however, blinded by his good fortune, rushed madly forward, unseeing the abyss yawning before him, and deemed that the self-restraint of his proposed father-in-law arose from the feebleness of age. If he could have seen the passion of Justinian when he was once more alone, he would have changed his mind; but this he was unaware of, and his self-conceit and egotistical blindness kept him in perfect ignorance of the approaching storm.
It was with great satisfaction that Justinian saw the great admiration Maurice Roylands had for Helena, and with still greater, when he noticed that his daughter was disposed to look favorably on the suit of the handsome young Englishman. Helena, indeed, in spite of her real simplicity, was a born reader of character, which happy trait she inherited from her father, as she inherited the fair beauty of her Greek mother; and the more she saw of Maurice, the more she loved him for his kindly heart, his honorable nature, and the delicacy with which he treated her. Caliphronas, confident in his manly beauty, paid his addresses with the air of a conqueror,—a mode of wooing which no woman likes, and Helena least of all, as it fired her proud soul with indignation; and when she saw how deferential was Maurice in his courting, she naturally enough preferred the diffident Englishman to the over-confident Greek. True daughter of Eve, however, she was, for, in spite of her dislike to Caliphronas, she could not resist at times the temptation of speaking kindly to him, in order to arouse the jealousy of Maurice. In this she was quite successful; and though Roylands could not but deem her wise to lull Caliphronas into a false security at the present crisis, still he was madly jealous of every look she bestowed on the Greek, and the two suitors were always on terms of ill-concealed enmity with one another.
Of course Helena was quite ignorant of all her father’s plans, and merely treated Caliphronas with unexpected kindness out of pure coquetry, being quite delighted when she saw how such caprice annoyed the man she truly loved. A woman may worship a man, and look upon him as the sole object of her adoration, yet even the wisest, the purest, the kindest woman cannot help teasing her god a little, out of sheer capriciousness. It is playing with fire, certainly, and many women burn their fingers at this perilous game of “I-love-you-to-day-and-you-to-morrow,” yet they will indulge in such coquettish triflings, either to make the man they love value them the more, or out of pure malicious desire to see his anger. Women instinctively know that what is won with difficulty is more valued than that which is gained with ease; and besides, it flatters a man into thinking he is superior to his fellow-creatures in fascinations, when he secures an affection which has fluttered doubtfully here and there before centring finally in his precious self. Think you Cleopatra would have kept Antony so long her slave, had she not stimulated his love occasionally by giving him cause for jealousy? By no means. Octavia was humble, faithful, true, and loving, so Marcus Antonius grew weary of such domestic virtues, and turned to Cleopatra, who kept him in a constant state of alarm lest her fickle nature should choose another lover. Helena knew nothing of Cleopatra’s wiles, but she instinctively knew that the way to win a man is to place a prize almost, but not quite within his reach; so she flirted with Caliphronas, and would have flirted with Crispin, had he given her a chance, yet cared more for Maurice, whom she thus tortured, than for all the rest put together.
To-day she was on her best behavior, however, and was seated with Maurice in the court, weaving a coronal of flowers for her adornment at dinner. Helena was fond of wreaths, and rarely made her appearance at any meal without a chaplet of roses, or ivy and violets, or delicate white lilies adorning her golden tresses. Crispin was in his room, engaged in writing his drama. Caliphronas was holding the above-mentioned conversation with Justinian; and the two young people sat lazily in the sunshine, Maurice smoking cigarettes, and Helena weaving her wreath with myrtle and roses and sweet-smelling violets.
The sun shone brightly on the white marble court, with its treasures of many-colored blossoms, the fountain flashed like fire in the lustrous light, and the white pigeons whirling aloft in the cloudless brilliance of the sky, at times settled down on the roof in milky lines with gentle cooings. Helena, with her hands buried in flowers and many-colored ribbons, was humming a quaint little song of the madrigal type, set to a simple, sweet melody, which rendered it very charming.
“Chloe, take you rose and myrtle,
Weave them in a dainty fashion,