Try. Had you a full view of her, or did you just see her face and as much as a woman of forty-five likes to show?
Ch. Oh, come! I have her word for it she will be two-and-twenty next birthday.
Try. Well, which are you going to trust—her word, or your own eyes? Just take a careful look at her temples some day; that is the only place where her own hair shows; all the rest is a thick wig; but at the temples, when the dye fades a little, you can easily detect the grey. But that is nothing; insist on seeing more than her face.
Ch. Oh, but I am not favoured so far as that.
Try. No, I should think not. She knows what the effect would be; why, she is all over—oh, talk of leopard-skins! And it was she made you cry like that, was it? I dare say, now, she was very cruel and scornful?
Ch. Yes, she was, dear; and such a lot of money as she has from me! Just now she wants a thousand drachmas; well, I am dependent on my father, and he is very close, and I could not very well get it; so she is at home to Moschion, and will not see me. That is why you are here; I thought it might vex her.
Try. Well, I'm sure I never never would have come if I had been told what it was for—just to vex somebody else, and that somebody old coffin-ripe Philematium! I shall go away; for that matter the third cock-crow is past.
Ch. No, no, not so fast, Tryphaena. If it is all true—the wig, the dye, and the leopard-skin—I shall hate the sight of her.
Try. If your mother has ever seen her at the bath, ask her. As to the age, you had better ask your grandfather about that, if he is alive.
Ch. Well, as that is what she is like, come up close to me. Give me your arms—and your lips—and let us be friends. Philematium be hanged!