quick, as if he personally were included in the implied accusation
of unworthiness. Nir-jalis perceived his annoyance, and added
good naturedly:

"Tush, man! Vex not thy soul as to thy friend's virtues or vices--
what are they to thee? And of truth Sah-luma is no worse than the
rest of us. All I maintain is that he is certainly no better. I
have known many poets in my day, and they are all more or less
alike--petulant as babes, peevish as women, selfish as misers, and
conceited as peacocks. They SHOULD be different? Oh, yes!--they
SHOULD be the perpetual youth of mankind, the faithful singers of
love idealized and made perfect. But then none of us are what we
ought to be! Besides, if we were all virtuous, . . by the gods! the
world would become too dull a hole to live in! Enough! Wilt drink
with me?" and beckoning a slave, he had his own goblet and that of
Theos filled to the brim with wine.

"To our more intimate acquaintance!" he said smilingly, and Theos,
somewhat captivated by the easy courtesy of his manner, could do
no less than respond cordially to the proffered toast. At that
moment a triumphant burst of music, like the sound of mingled
flutes, hautboys, and harps, pushed through the dome like a strong
wind sweeping in from the sea, and with it the hum and buzz of
conversation began in good earnest. Theos, lifting his gaze toward
Lysia's seat, saw that she was now surrounded by the four
attendant negresses, who, standing two on each side of her throne,
held large fans of peacock plumes, which, as they were waved
slowly to and fro, emitted a thousand scintillations of jewel-like
splendor. A slave, attired in scarlet, knelt on one knee before
her, proffering a golden salver loaded with the choicest fruits