cruelly than ever, he devoted himself to me like a loving brother.  While formerly, in the overflowing joy of existence, he had revelled all day and caroused all night, how often he paused in the rush of gaiety to exchange the festal hall for a place beside my couch, frequently remaining there until Eos dyed the east, that he might hold my fevered hand and support my shaken frame!  Frequently too, when already garlanded for some gay banquet, he took the flowers from his head and devoted the night to his friend, that he might not leave him to the attendance of the slaves.  It is owing to him, and the care and skill of the great leech Erasistratus, that I am still standing before you alive and can praise what my Hermon was and proved himself to me in those days.  Yet I must also accuse him of a wrong; to this hour I bear him a grudge for having, in those sorrowful hours, refused to share my property with me fraternally.  What manly pride would have cheerfully permitted him to accept was opposed by the defiant desire to show me, your father, you, the whole world, that he would depend upon himself, and needed assistance neither from human beings nor even the gods.  In the same way, while working, he obstinately rejected my counsel and my help, though the Muse grants me some things which he unfortunately lacks.  Great as his talent is, firmly as I believe that he will yet succeed some day in creating something grand, nay, perhaps something mighty, the unbelieving disciple of Straton lacks the power of comprehending the august dignity, the superhuman majesty of the divine nature, and he does not succeed in representing the bewitching charm of woman, because he hates it as the bull hates a red rag.  Only once hitherto has he been successful, and that was with your bust.”

Daphne’s cheeks suddenly flamed with a burning flush, and feeling it she raised her feather fan to her eyes, and with forced indifference murmured:  “We were good friends from our earliest childhood.  And, besides, how small is the charm with which the artist who chooses me for a model has to deal!”

“It is rather an unusually fascinating one,” Myrtilus asserted resolutely.  “I have no idea of flattering you, and you are certainly aware that I do not number you among the beauties of Alexandria.  But instead of the delicate, symmetrical features which artists need, the gods bestowed upon you a face which wins all hearts, even those of women, because it is a mirror of genuine, helpful, womanly kindness, a sincere disposition, and a healthy, receptive mind.  To reproduce such a face, not exactly beautiful, and yet bewitching, is the hardest possible task, and Hermon, I repeat it, has succeeded.  You are the only one of your noble sex who inspires the motherless man with respect, and for whom he feels more than a fleeting fancy.  What does he not owe you?  After the bridge which united him to his uncle and paternal friend had been so suddenly broken, it was you who rebuilt it.  Now, I think, it is stronger than ever.  I could not imagine anything that would induce him to give you up; and all honour to your father, who, instead of bearing the insubordinate fellow a grudge, only drew him more warmly to his heart, and gave us two commissions which will permit each to do his best.  If I see clearly, the daughter of Archias is closely connected with this admirable deed.”