An indigestion, no doubt.' Marcian spoke with peculiar dryness, averting his eyes from the listener.

Upon Basil's face came a deep flush; he took out the folded paper again, and held it at arm's length.
'You mean--?
You think-- ?' he stammered.
'About women I think not at all,' said the other, 'as you well know.
There is talk, talk--what care I ?' Basil tore the letter open.

It contained a lock of raven-black hair, tied with gold thread, and on the paper was written, in Greek, 'I am free.' Again his cheek flushed; he crushed paper and hair together in his hand.
'Let us never again speak of her,' he exclaimed, moving away from the spot.

'Before I left Rome, I told you that I would gladly see her no more, and you smiled dubiously.

Believe me now.