"Give me Xanthe for a wife, my father. We have grown up together like
the ivy and wild vine on the wall, and cannot part."

"No certainly not," added Xanthe, blushing and nestling closely to her
lover's side, as she gazed beseechingly first at her uncle, and then at
the young visitor from Messina.

"Children, children!" cried Protarch, "you spoil my best plans. I had
destined Agariste, the rich Mentor's only child, for you, foolish boy,
and already had come to terms with the old miser. But who can say I
will, or this and that shall happen to-morrow? You are very sweet and
charming my girl, and I don't say that I shouldn't be glad, but--mighty
Zeus! what will my brother Alciphron say--and you, Leonax?"

"I?" asked the young man, smiling. "I came here like a dutiful son,
but I confess I rejoice over what has happened, for now my parents will
hardly say 'No' a second time, when I beg them to give me Codrus's
daughter, Ismene, for my wife."

"And there stands a maiden who seems to like to hear such uncivil words
better than Helen loved Paris's flattering speeches!" exclaimed Phaon's
father, first kissing his future daughter's cheek and then his son's
forehead.

"But now let us go to father," pleaded Xanthe.

"Only one moment," replied Protarch, "to look after the boxes the people
are bringing.--Take care of the large chest with the Phoenician dishes
and matron's robes, my lads."