Agellius had been sitting on a gate of one of the vineyards; he started on his feet, threw up his arms, and made an exclamation.

“Listen, listen, my dear boy!” cried Jucundus, hastening to explain what he considered the cause of his sudden annoyance; “listen, just one moment, Agellius, if you can. Dear, dear, how I wish I knew where to find you! What is the matter? I’m not treating her ill, I’m not indeed. I have not had any notion at all even of hinting that you should leave her, unless you both wished the bargain rescinded. No, but it is a great rise for her; you are a Roman, with property, with position in the place; she’s a stranger, and without a dower: nobody knows whence she came, or anything about her. She ought to have no difficulty about it, and I am confident will have none.”

“O my good, dear uncle! O Jucundus, Jucundus!” cried Agellius, “is it possible? do my ears hear right? What is it you ask me to do?” and he burst into tears. “Is it conceivable,” he said, with energy, “that you are in earnest in recommending me—I say in recommending me—a marriage which really would be no marriage at all?”

“Here is some very great mistake,” said Jucundus, angrily; “it arises, Agellius, from your ignorance of the world. You must be thinking I recommend you mere contubernium, as the lawyers call it. Well, I confess I did think of that for a moment, it occurred to me; I should have liked to have mentioned it, but knowing how preposterously touchy and skittish you are on supposed points of honour, or sentiment, or romance, or of something or other indescribable, I said not one word about that. I have only wished to consult for your comfort, present and future. You don’t do me justice, Agellius. I have been attempting to smooth your way. You must act according to the received usages of society! you cannot make a world for yourself. Here have I proposed three or four ways for your proceeding: you will have none of them. What will you have? I thought you didn’t like ceremonies; I thought you did not like the established ways. Go, then, do it in the old fashion; kill your sheep, knead your meal, light your torches, sing your song, summon your flamen, if he’ll come. Any how, take your choice; do it either with religion or without.”

“O Jucundus!” said the poor fellow, “am I then come to this?” and he could say no more.