Chrem. Do you say so?
Men. Do you give attention then?
Chrem. Just stop—first I want to know this, what money you have squandered; for when you told your son that she was promised, of course Dromo would at once throw in a word that golden jewels, clothes, and attendants would be needed for the bride, in order that you might give the money.
Men. No.
Chrem. How, no?
Men. No, I tell you.
Chrem. Nor yet your son himself?
Men. Not in the slightest, Chremes. He was only the more pressing on this one point, that the match might be concluded to-day.
Chrem. You say what’s surprising. What did my servant Syrus do? Didn’t even he say any thing?
Men. Nothing at all.