This involuntary comparison did no great harm, until her friend Eucoline chanced to die suddenly. Then the idea came into her head, “If I could marry Eratus, what a noble span we should make! We might ride in our own chariot, inlaid with ivory and gold. Perhaps it _may_ happen some day, Who knows? Didn’t the Greeks get into Troy?” She tried to drive away the pleasing vision, but it _would_ intrude itself; and worse still, the handsome Eratus often came in person to bring choice grapes and figs, in the prettiest of all imaginable vases and baskets. He was always friendly with Hermotimus; and if his body had wandered away, carried by the soul, which was so generally absent from this material world, the Epicurean would inquire, in this jocular way, “Where is the good Hermotimus, pretty one? Has he gone off to converse with the gods? If Venus had given _me_ such a beautiful companion at home, all Olympus wouldn’t tempt me away from her.” The gay, graceful, flattering man! He was a dangerous contrast to her pale silent husband, hiding himself in groves and grottoes, thinking only of obtaining wings for his soul. Eratus was conscious of his power, and betrayed it by expressive glances from his large dark eyes. Sparks fell from them into the heart of the neglected wife, and kindled a fire there which glowed through her cheeks. Her eyelids drooped under his ardent gaze, and she avoided looking at him when he spoke; but she could not shut out the melting tenderness of his tones. It was a hard trial to poor Praxinoë. Her nature had such tropical exuberance! She was born with such love of splendour, such capacity for joy! and the cruel Fates had cast her destiny in such cold and shady places! Her pride had sometimes been an evil companion, but it now proved a friend in need. If she could not be the wife of Eratus, she resolved not to give Cupid any more opportunities to shoot arrows from his eyes, or play amorous tunes with his musical voice. When she saw the flatterer approaching, she retreated hastily and left an old servant to receive him, and thank him for the grapes he had brought for Hermotimus. Eratus smiled at the veil she thus endeavoured to throw over his attentions; and to deprive her of the subterfuge, he sent her a golden bracelet and ear-rings, for which she could not thank him in the name of her husband. She returned the costly gift, though affection, vanity, and love of elegance strongly tempted her to retain it. She was a brave woman. The prudes in the neighbourhood, who were accustomed to shake their heads and say she laughed and talked more than was consistent with decorum, never knew half how brave she was.