But Lycastus, hanging his head, did not speak.
“Lycastus, what is it?” asked Aristarchus. “But I see how it is with thee. Thou art shy. Thou art in love and thou wishest to marry.”
He laughed a little.
Lycastus placed his arm for a moment on the arm of his friend.
“Thou knowest also? Who told thee?”
“Thyself. Has he not told us, Master? Thou hast been very happy these last weeks, Lycastus, and sometimes thou hast been sunk deeply in moods of the sweetest misery. And sometimes the blood has come quickly to thy cheeks for no reason that I could see, and has gone as quickly as it came. It is only a maid who does that to a man. What is her name?”
“Her name is Drusilla.”
“And she loves thee?” asked Aristarchus, encouragingly.
“I think she does. I have prayed that she may.”
They walked on in silence for a little while, Paul’s eyes bent on the ground.