It would have been a natural
impulse for her to wish to inquire for the girl's business with the
man that the Greek as hostess was expected to conceal. But Amaryllis
had her own explanation for this visit. It had been plain to less
observant eyes than hers that the newly arrived Philadelphus was not
delighted with the bride he had met.
The Greek summoned a servant.
"Go summon thy master, Prisca; and haste. I doubt not I have for him a
sweet relief."
The woman bowed.
"If it please thee, madam, the master is without in the vestibule,
returning from the city." Amaryllis signed to the ivory chair before
her.
"Sit, lady," she said to Laodice. "He will come at once."
The young woman dropped into the seat and gazed wistfully at her
hostess. Instinctively, she knew that in this woman was no relief from
the darkened life she was to lead with her husband. The Greek's face,
palely lighted by a thoughtful smile, vanished in sudden darkness.
Laodice saw instead an image of a strong intent face, brightening
under the sunrise, saw it relax, soften, grow inexpressibly kind, then
pass, as a tender memory taking leave for ever.
She was brought to herself by the Greek's rising suddenly. The
Ephesian appeared at the arch, tossing mantle and kerchief to the
porter as he entered. Laodice rose to her feet with difficulty. It was
he, indeed!
He was kissing Amaryllis' hand.
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