"yet I seek nothing from Barine, save two pleasant hours when the day is
drawing towards its close. No matter; Iras, I suppose, heard that I was
favoured by this much-admired woman. Iras herself has some little regard
for me, so she bought Philostratus. She is willing to pay something for
the sake of injuring the woman who stands between us, or the old man who
has the good or evil fortune of being her rival's grandfather. No, no;
that would be too base! And believe me, if Iras desired to ruin Barine,
she need not make so long a circuit. Besides, she is not really a wicked
woman. Or is she? All I know is that where any advantage is to be
gained for the Queen, she does not shrink even from doubtful means, and
also that the hours speed swiftly for any one in her society. Yes, Iras,
Iras--I like to utter the name. Yet I do not love her, and she--loves
only herself, and--a thing few can say--another still more. What is the
world, what am I to her, compared with the Queen, the idol of her heart?
Since Cleopatra's departure, Iras seems like the forsaken Ariadne, or a
young roe which has strayed from its mother. But stop; she may have a
hand in the game: the Queen trusted her as if she were her sister, her
daughter. No one knows what she and Charmian are to her. They are
called waiting-women, but are their sovereign's dearest friends. When,
on the departure of the fleet, Cleopatra was compelled to leave Iras
here--she was ill with a fever--she gave her the charge of her children,
even those whose beards were beginning to grow, the 'King of kings'
Caesarion, whose tutor punishes him for every act of disobedience; and
the unruly lad Antyllus, who has forced his way the last few evenings
into our friend's house."

"Antony, his own father, introduced him to her."

"Very true, and Antyllus took Caesarion there. This vexed Iras, like
everything which may disturb the Queen. Barine is troublesome on account