“Not a bit of it,” answered Juba; “rest assured. I taxed him with it only last night; let him alone, he’ll come round. He’s too proud to change, that’s all. Preach to him, entreat him, worry him, try to turn him, work at the bit, whip him, and he will turn restive, start aside, or run away; but let him have his head, pretend not to look, seem indifferent to the whole matter, and he will quietly sit down in the midst of your images there. Callista has an easy task; she’ll bribe him to do what he would else do for nothing.”

“The very best news I have heard since your silly old father died,” cried Jucundus; “the very best—if true. Juba, I’ll give you an handsome present the first sow your brother sacrifices to Ceres. Ha, ha, what fine fun to see the young farmer over his cups at the Nundinæ! Ha, ha, no Christian! bravo, Juba! ha, ha, I’ll make you a present, I say, an Apollo to teach you manners, or a Mercury to give you wit.”

“It’s quite true,” said Juba; “he would not be thinking of Callista, if he were thinking of his saints and angels.”

“Ha, ha! to be sure!” returned Jucundus; “to be sure! yet why shouldn’t he worship a handsome Greek girl as well as any of those mummies and death’s heads and bogies of his, which I should blush to put up here alongside even of Anubis, or a scarabæus?”

“Mother thinks she is not altogether the girl you take her for,” said his nephew.

“No matter, no matter,” answered Jucundus, “no matter at all; she may be a Lais or Phryne for me; the surer to make a man of him.”

“Why,” said Juba, “mother thinks her head is turning in the opposite way. D’you see? Strange, isn’t it?” he added, annoyed himself yet not unwilling to annoy his uncle.

“Hm!” exclaimed Jucundus, making a wry face and looking round at him, as if to say, “What on earth is going to turn up now?”