'I implore you speak. What has Glaucus insinuated? or rather, in what
do you suppose he has offended?'

Smothering his resentment at the last part of Ione's question, Arbaces
continued: 'You know his pursuits, his companions his habits; the
comissatio and the alea (the revel and the dice) make his occupation;
and amongst the associates of vice how can he dream of virtue?'

'Still you speak riddles. By the gods! I entreat you, say the worst at
once.'

'Well, then, it must be so. Know, my Ione, that it was but yesterday
that Glaucus boasted openly--yes, in the public baths--of your love to
him. He said it amused him to take advantage of it. Nay, I will do him
justice, he praised your beauty. Who could deny it? But he laughed
scornfully when his Clodius, or his Lepidus, asked him if he loved you
enough for marriage, and when he purposed to adorn his door-posts with
flowers?'

'Impossible! How heard you this base slander?'

'Nay, would you have me relate to you all the comments of the insolent
coxcombs with which the story has circled through the town? Be assured
that I myself disbelieved at first, and that I have now painfully been
convinced by several ear-witnesses of the truth of what I have
reluctantly told thee.'

Ione sank back, and her face was whiter than the pillar against which
she leaned for support.