Never by one glance or touch, or word or gesture, had Thoth shown the smallest sign of love for her. He treated her always with the same delicacy; he never laughed at her ignorance; and in everything he tried to consult her wishes. Yet Daphne was at that time one of the most beautiful women in the world, in the full pride of youth and health, and endowed with a mind capable of great thoughts, and a spirit of courage to the performance of great deeds; and Thoth was apparently in the very prime of vigorous manhood. The man was a mystery to her—a mystery surrounded by mysteries.
Yet why had he brought her and tried to bring more of her companions thither, with infinite trouble and risk?
And why had he made such a careful selection?—for the maidens were the flower of Greece.
When her reflections were turned in this direction, other questions forced themselves upon her which hitherto a certain delicacy had prevented her from putting to Thoth.
How was it that his companions had shown such repugnance and contempt for her compatriots and herself, whilst Thoth treated her with such deference?
Over and over again she tried to detect in his manner some trace of dislike, but without success. Was Thoth of a different race?
Then she wondered how the women of the highest rank were treated, and why the chiefs should have sought for strange women for wives. Many women she had seen in the city, but none who seemed of a superior degree, unless indeed some of the masks were women disguised like herself. At length she determined to ask Thoth, and the next time they met a mask she inquired if there were other women in her position.
He at once said “No.”
“Do any of the women of thy tribe use this dress?”
“No.”