He watched her attentively. All the light had fled from her face.
“You wish me to marry Kyrios Oïdas,” she said, after a pause.
“You have rightly guessed. He is not a scholar, I have to admit, and a modern politician does not fill me with admiration; but he is wealthy, and will take care of you. It will be for you to shine, and I dare say he will be proud enough of you.”
“If he were a scholar I could understand,” she exclaimed. “But simple money! Father, you are not material. You are not tired of me?”
“Tired? I? Of you?”
Pericles fondled her hand, and laughed.
“But you wish me to leave you for this man, who is only rich.”
“I shall not live forever, and a husband will be your proper protector. Poverty would not be a recommendation in a suitor, I imagine.”
“But you are not so old, and there are long days before us.”
“Who knows? I have been warned of late that I am not very strong. It is decided. You must marry.”