At the foot of the marble stairway, in the hall below Marcia's
apartment, Livius stood remonstrating, growing nervous. Marcia, dressed
in the dignified robes of a Roman matron, that concealed even her ankles
and suggested the demure, self-conscious rectitude of olden times, kept
touching his breast with her ivory fan, he flinching from the touch,
subduing irritation.

"If the question is, what I want with you, Livius, the answer is, that I
invite you. Order your litter brought."

"But Marcia, I am subprefect. I am responsible to--"

"Did you hear?"

"But if you will tell where we are going, I might feel justified in
neglecting the palace business. I assure you I have important work to
do."

"There are plenty who can attend to it," said Marcia. "The most
important thing in your life, Livius, is my good-will. You are delaying
me."

Livius glared at Caia Poppeia, the lady-in-waiting, who was smiling,
standing a little behind Marcia. He hoped she would take the hint and
withdraw out of earshot, but she had had instructions, and came half a
step closer.

"Will you let me go back to my office and--"

"No!" answered Marcia.