Though her eyes were black, her hair was fair and brilliant with a wash of gold powder.

Her features were Hellenic, cold, pure and classic, and for all her youth and beauty there was an atmosphere about her of middle-age, immense experience, and old sagacity.
The pretender braced himself for the scrutiny the eyes made of him.
"You are that Philadelphus, as my servant tells me ?" she asked.
"I am he." She inclined her head.
"Welcome; in the name of all the need of you!" After a silence he came closer and lifted her hand to his lips.

He added nothing, but presently raised his eyes softened with feeling and unexpressed appreciation.
"Certainly you have suffered, lady," he said finally in a subdued tone.

"But please God you will not suffer alone hereafter." Amaryllis' non-committal front changed.
"You are gentler of speech than is common among the Maccabees," she said.
"Nevertheless the Maccabees are the more touched by devotion," he maintained.
He led her to the exedra, unslung his wallet and laid it on the lectern before them.
"When thou hast leisure, perchance thou wilt find interest in these papers here." She thanked him and there was a moment's silence.

Under his lashes the impostor saw that he had not filled her fancied picture of the Maccabee made from long years of correspondence.