“Fear not, little one,” he said pleasantly. “The Lady is not angry with thee, but she does not know the island of the blue sea and the white rock and the grey olive as thou and I do. What do they call thee?”
“Eurynomé of the Andropouloi, lord.”
“The Andropouloi! Is the island as full of them as ever? Why, thou art surely the daughter of Petros’s sister Theano? I remember she was to marry an Andropoulos soon after I left Strio.”
“Stephanos is her husband’s name, lord—sword-bearer to the Despot.”
“Why doesn’t she call you Despoti mou, instead of Kyrie?” asked the Lady sharply.
“Probably because to her there is only one Despot in the world. Tell the Lady whom you mean when you speak of the Despot, child.”
“He of Strio, lord,” with evident surprise.
“Just so. But here there are two other Despots, he of Therma, which is myself, and he of Klaustra, who is——”
“My dear Romanos! She will think you are in earnest.”
“And am I not, my most beautiful? But come, child, tell me whether the girls run about over the roofs in the spring evenings in Strio as they used to do?”