“It was only foolishness, lady. Does he not wear the little lord’s clothes? And we are proud of a first-born son in—” she had all but said “in Strio,” but substituted just in time—“in the islands. He is often called the little lord by the women.”
“Then you do come from the islands? Why did you tell my husband you had never been there?”
“Because I never have, my lady. I have always lived in Therma, but my family come from the islands. I suppose that is why that wretch Petros sought us out,” she added hardily. “Being island-born himself, doubtless he wished to hear the island-talk again.”
Zoe reflected for a moment. The explanation was glib enough, but it did not altogether satisfy her. “Do you always tell the truth, Kalliopé?” she asked boldly.
“O my lady, I never told a lie in my life!” replied the unblushing Danaë, with virtuous indignation. Her hostess abandoned the unpromising field of inquiry, and began to talk about the children.
“They are very much of an age,” she said.
“But the Lord Harold is much fatter,” said Danaë politely, yet with an air that implied size was by no means everything.
“How well you have caught his name, Kalliopé! Have you ever heard it before?” Danaë’s eyes were uncomprehending, but she declined to give herself away by answering, and Zoe went on. “His first name is Maurice, after my brother, but we could not have two Maurices, so we called him Harold, after a dear friend of ours who nearly lost his life in trying to help us in Hagiamavra. Sometimes we call him Childe Harold, to distinguish him. You have heard of Byron’s poem?”
Any other Greek girl would have kindled to enthusiasm at the name of Byron, but Danaë remained woefully perplexed, though she muttered, in a hopeless attempt to save appearances, that she knew the poem well. Then, perceiving that she had made a blunder, she dashed into a bold confidence.
“Lady, I will tell you a great secret. I feared at first, but now I know that I can trust you, since you received my Jannaki kindly, and gave him a place with your own child. Once I told the Lord Theophanis that the child was greater than he seemed, which made him laugh, and doubtless the Lord Glafko believed I was speaking falsely. But it is true. Janni is not my sister’s child. Her boy died, and this is the son of the great Frank lady in whose house my sister served, as I told you.”