“Speak not of my father,” said the girl gravely.
“She is beautiful as a water-nymph, supple as a sword, and a virgin—as at her birth.”
The man disrobed her with cynical hands, but Parrhasius struck the earth with his stick, and muttered—
“Virgin, you say? I care not whether she be a virgin or not, but merely whether she be beautiful enough. Take away her shackles, that she may robe herself properly. I will purchase her. What is her name?”
“Artemidora,” said she.
“Ah, good. Then know, Artemidora, that you are for the future in the suite of Parrhasius.”
She opened her great eyes wide, hesitated charmingly, and then said—
“You are the Parrhasius who....”
“Yes, I am Parrhasius,” came the reply.