“I assure you, sir,” said Cymodoce, gravely, “that you are under a serious mistake. That figure is a mere painted figure-head, quite incapable of a rational thought or instructive conversation.”
“What we admire in woman is her affections, not her intellect,” said the merman.
“Look at me!” said Arethusa; and the tall nymph stood up before him in all her immortal beauty and shook down her golden hair till it swept her ankles.
“My dear Arethusa,” said Cymodoce, “let me ask you to consider if this is quite proper?”
Panope only smiled, and Arethusa took no sort of notice.
“Look at me,” she said, “and compare me with that wooden thing. Don’t you see the difference?”
A difference there certainly was. The merman felt a cold chill go to his heart. For one instant his eyes were opened; for one instant he knew he had been worshiping a stick. Then he would not see or feel the truth.
“Farewell!” he cried, desperately; “I will follow her to the ends of the earth, whether she is alive or not,” and he swam away.
“Poor fellow!” said Arethusa.
“He looks a good deal like the pious Æneas,” said Cymodoce, who often mentioned that gentleman.