“I am wondering whether among the youths of the city, whom you must have seen on festival days, there is not one you would like for a husband.”
Myrtale blushed faintly, but shook her head.
“There is Theagenes, the son of Straton, the dyer. True, he is rather stout for a young man, but he is clever, talks well, and has a fortune at least as large as your own.”
Myrtale made no reply; but struck, with the tassel on the corner of her upper robe, the head of a dandelion growing by the roadside, so that its white down flew in every direction.
Polycles understood that the proposed suitor was excluded from the list.
“There is Eumolpus, son of Socles the rope-maker!” he continued. “He is slender, well-formed, and handsome. True, he is on intimate terms with a hetaira, but after marriage....”
Myrtale made no answer in words; but the tassel was put in motion with the same result as before.
“There is also,” added Polycles, “young Nicias, your neighbor’s son. I don’t deny that since his visit to Athens he has become a dandy; but....”
This was too much for Myrtale; she forgot the reserve required of a young girl and wrathfully exclaimed:
“The coxcomb!”