The City of Delight

"Philadelphus," she said gravely, "we were sent hither to succeed or

to suffer the penalty of our failure. My father died that we might

have this opportunity. We must use it, or perish with it!"

He shook his head and walked away a step or two.

"You have not the true meaning of life," he said. "Indeed how few of

us understand! Obstacles are not an incentive toward attaining

impossible things. They are barriers set up by the kindly disposed

gods to inform man that he is opposing destiny when he aspires to

things he should not have. We were not made to fling ourselves against

mighty opposition throughout the little daylight we have; to wound

ourselves, to deny ourselves, to alienate that winsome sprite

Pleasure, to attain something which was not intended for us by the

signs of the obstructions placed in our paths. Who are we that we

should achieve mightily! What are we when the gods have done with us,

but a handful of dust! Who saves himself from age and unloveliness and

ultimate imbecility, by all the superhuman efforts he may exert! A

pest on the first morose man that made dismal endeavor a virtue!"

She looked at him with amazement, though until that hour she believed

that this man could astonish her no more.

"Misfortune comes often enough without our knocking at her door," he

continued. "Mankind is the only creature with conceit enough to seek

to emulate the gods. It is wrong to think that to be moral is to be

miserable. Nature's scheme for us, faithfully fulfilled, is always

pleasurable. We have only to recognize it, and receive its benefits.

Nothing on earth is luckier than man, if he but knew it. A murrain on

ambition! Let us be glad!"

How could she be glad with such a man! The time, the call of the hour,

the need of her nation, the obligation to her dead father--all these

things stood in her way. How had she felt, were this that engaging

stranger who had called himself Hesper, urging her to be glad with

him! She felt, then and there, the recurrence of guilt which the sight

of the reproachful face of Momus had brought to her when she found

herself forgetting her loyalty in the presence of that winsome man.

The thought stopped the bitter speech that rose to her lips. She

looked away and made no answer. He was close beside her.

"Come away and let this woman who wishes the kingdom have it. She had

liefer be rid of me than not."

She gazed at him with a peculiar blankness stealing over her face.

"Oh, for the quintessence of all compounded oaths to charge my vow!"

he said.

"For what?" she asked.

"My love, Phryne!"

At the old pagan name with which he had affronted her that morning in

the hills, Laodice drew back sharply.