“Polycles is right,” he said, “your name ought to have been Metis[U] and not Myrtale.... But will not Lycon take advantage of the night to steal from me again?”
[U] Prudence, ingenuity.
Myrtale made no reply, but the lines around her mouth expressed so much wrath and scorn that Simonides in surprise looked at her more closely. A glittering streak ran from her eyes down over her cheeks.
“So you trust him?” he asked.
“I do trust him,” replied Myrtale so earnestly that her father remained silent a long time.
“Was I too severe?” he said at last.
Myrtale did not answer.
“Remember, child, that the service he has rendered to me is nothing in comparison to the crime he committed. If his own sin had not made me ill, I should never have needed his assistance.”
The next morning, while Lycon was uncertain whether he ought to go to Simonides or wait for the latter’s orders, a boy entered and said:
“Simonides asks Lycon to come to him.”