Enter Pamphilus and Clinia.
PAMPHILUS.
That queer old boy’s my father: didn’t you know him?
CLINIA.
No.
How should I? but his name I know—Chremes.
Pam.You have it.
Take care he hear not your name.
Clin.Why so, Pamphilus?
What can he know of me? and if he knew . . .