“I don’t think you need be afraid of that,” replied Helena, with great scorn; “Andros is not likely to rule Melnos.”
“You don’t like him?”
“I hate him!”
“And why? He is very handsome.”
“Do you think I am a woman likely to be taken with mere good looks in a man?” she answered, with an angry light in her eyes. “I thought you knew me better than that, Maurice.”
“Forgive me, Helena; but indeed I am glad you do not like Caliphronas.”
Helena knew the reason of this pointed remark, and, looking down with a blush, was about to reply, when the man they were talking about came quickly along the narrow path, with a savage scowl on his handsome face.
“Helena, your father is asking for you,” he said abruptly.
“Oh, I will go at once,” replied the girl lightly, in order to conceal her confusion; and rapidly left the spot, where Caliphronas still remained looking angrily at Maurice.
The Englishman saw that the Count was in a terrible rage, and ready to overwhelm him with invective, but, nevertheless, was not sorry to come to a complete understanding with this treacherous scamp, who had no regard for truth, honor, or daring. Caliphronas was a thorough bully by nature; and, having succeeded in browbeating his own countrymen by arrogance, thought he would try the same plan with Maurice, quite unaware that the seemingly easy-going young man was made of sterner stuff than yielding Hellenes, and would hold his own against all odds with true British doggedness.