“Don’t look for one. You have set to work too late. There is no one about now.”
“Who told you that I was looking for one? I am taking a walk by myself, and am looking for nothing.”
“Where have you come from then? You certainly have not put on all those jewels for your own pleasure, and that silken veil. . .”
“Would you have me go out naked, or dressed in wool like a slave-woman? I dress for my own benefit. I like to know that I am beautiful, and I look at my fingers as I walk in order to recognise all my rings. . . . .”
“You ought to have a mirror in your hand and look at nothing but your eyes. Those eyes did not see the light at Alexandria. You are a Jewess. I recognise it by your voice, which is softer than ours.”
“No, I am not a Jewess. I am a Galilæn.”
“What is your name, Miriam or Noëmi?”
“My Syriac name you shall not know. It is a royal name which is not home here. My friends call me Chrysis, and it is a compliment that you might have paid me.”
He put his hand on her arm.
“Oh! no, no,” she said mockingly. “It is much too late for this kind of trifling. Let me go home quickly. I have been up for nearly three hours. I am dying of hunger.”