The City of Delight

"They are not many," the girl said. "For the most part, the citizens

of Jerusalem feel as apprehensive about him as you do."

"I wonder that John will stay in the Temple with a god in it,"

Juventius said, as if he had not heard the rest of the discussion.

"John!" the athlete exclaimed. "John is an adventurer that believes

in nothing, has no cause and furthers this warfare for loot and the

possible chance of escape when the conflict comes."

"Simon is different," another said. "Now he is wild and mad and

insolent and foolhardy, because he believes that, no matter what

tangle the situation is in, the celestial emissary he expects will

straighten it out for him."

"In short, he means to work such a complexity here that the man who

unravels it must needs be divine."

At this moment the door that cut off the rest of the house from this

dining-room opened smartly and the supposed Philadelphus stepped in.

He closed the door behind him and glanced at the filled table. Those

there seated rose. He spoke to each one by name, and after they had

greeted him, they filed out into the court and the servants began to

remove the remnants of their meal. Laodice rose at sign of this

concerted deference to Philadelphus but sat down again, with her lips

compressed. However they had disposed her, she would not accept the

menial attitude. She had not finished her honey-cakes.

He came round to her, drew up a chair and sat down beside her. She

ignored him, making a feint that was not entirely successful at

interest in her fruit.

"Who art thou, in truth?" he asked finally.

"Laodice," she answered coldly.

He sighed and she added nothing more.

"What can your purpose be in this?" he asked.

She ignored the question. After a longer silence, he said in an

altered and softened tone: "What an innocent you are! Certainly this is your first attempt! What

marplot told you that such a thing as you have essayed was possible?"

She put aside her plate and her cup, and turned to him.

"By your leave I will retire," she said.

"Not yet," he answered, smiling. "It is my duty as a Jew to help you

while there is time."

She settled back in her chair and looked at the cluster of plants

while he talked.

"Nothing so damages the beauty of a woman as trickery. No bad woman is

beautiful very long. There comes a canker on her soul's beauty, in her

face, that disfigures her, soon or late. Whoever you are, whatever

your condition, you are lovely yet. Be beautiful; of a surety then you

must be good."

It was the same old hypocritical pose that the bad man assumes to

cloak himself before innocence. Laodice remembered the incident in the

hills.