Maurice saw that Caliphronas was walking towards them, and wisely held his peace, although it was difficult for him to repress the delight which the hint of Justinian had awakened in his breast. To have this queen among women as his own, to pass his life by her side, to always have her beautiful face before his eyes,—it was too good to be true. Yet true it was, for Justinian had unmistakably shown his approbation of the match. As to Caliphronas, the young Englishman had no fear; he had given his rival plainly to understand that he would strive his hardest to win Helena, and the Greek could not say that he was involved in any way in Justinian’s crafty diplomacy. Maurice Roylands was essentially an honorable man, and, despite the necessity for such treachery, the underhanded dealings of the Demarch were revolting to his sense of honesty, and he was glad he had come to a complete understanding with the Count, so that, when Justinian showed his hand in the deep game he was playing, Caliphronas could not accuse his rival of underhand dealings in any way. As to Helena, this straightforward lover was not so ignorant of the ways of women as not to know she liked him best, in spite of her coquettings with Caliphronas; therefore he felt quite confident that Helena would not be cruel enough to refuse him.
His meditations were put an end to by Crispin, who approached with Dick, on whose behalf he proffered a challenge to Mr. Roylands.
“Here you are, Maurice,” said the poet cheerily. “Dick wishes to know if you will be his antagonist in a boxing contest.”
“Certainly, I will be delighted; but I am afraid, Dick, you will have the best of it, as I haven’t touched the gloves for the last six months.”
“I’m not in good training myself, sir,” replied Dick modestly; “but I’d dearly love to have a turn with you, sir, if I may make so bold, just to show these darned Greeks how to use their fists.”
“Don’t you speak contemptuously of these darned Greeks, my friend,” said Crispin dryly; “some of Justinian’s men have no small skill in boxing, I can tell you.”
“Not Caliphronas,” remarked Maurice, recalling his contest with the Count on the first day of the feast.
“Caliphronas!” echoed Crispin scornfully. “No; he is too much afraid of his beauty being spoiled to go in for hard knocks; but he is a good leaper, Maurice, so you will have to look to your University laurels.”
“‘And can I fail before my lady’s eyes?’” quoted Maurice jestingly.
“Perhaps not; but remember Caliphronas is also exhibiting his prowess in his lady’s eyes: so you are like two knights of the Middle Ages tilting before the Queen of Beauty. If you fail, my poor Maurice”—