his lips unuttered. Turning half to the grammateus, half to the matron,
he merely said, in a cold, self-conscious tone, that Thyone was right.
In this gay circle, the wreath of bright flowers proffered by the hands
of a beautiful woman was the dearest of all gifts, and he would know how
to value it.

"Until other more precious ones cast it into oblivion," observed Althea.
"Let me see, Hermon: ivy and roses. The former is lasting, but the
roses--" She shook her finger in roguish menace at the sculptor as she
spoke.

"The roses," Proclus broke in again, "are of course the most welcome to
our young friend from such a hand; yet these flowers of the goddess of
Beauty have little in common with his art, which is hostile to beauty.
Still, I do not know what wreath will be offered to the new tendency with
which he surprised us."

At this Hermon raised his head higher, and answered sharply: "Doubtless
there must have been few of them, since you, who are so often among the
judges, do not know them. At any rate, those which justice bestows have
hitherto been lacking."

"I should deplore that," replied Proclus, stroking his sharp chin with
his thumb and forefinger; "but I fear that our beautiful Nike also cared
little for this lofty virtue of the judge in the last coronation.
However, her immortal model lacks it often enough."

"Because she is a woman," said one of the young officers, laughing; and
another added gaily: "That very thing may be acceptable to us soldiers.
For my part, I think everything about the goddess of Victory is beautiful