‘I apologise for having been so foolish as to offend you, uncle,’ said Afer, with a barely perceptible shrug of his shoulders; ‘I was, in truth, only jesting. Centurion, I have the honour of drinking to your health!’ he added, with an accompanying look which mocked the courteousness of his voice. The Pretorian coldly returned the compliment, scarcely trusting his tongue to speak, for fear of the scorn and dislike which filled him. Fabricius nodded approvingly, and Afer continued, ‘And now, uncle, to the news of our great Prefect—or, perhaps, your friend, the Centurion, has already told, you? No—I am glad, then, to be the first to inform you. Sejanus is the accepted son‐in‐law of Caesar, and goes forthwith to Capreae to claim his bride.’ ‘Ah!’ quoth Fabricius quietly, ‘he creeps up the ladder apace; but these matters interest me not. Time was when I would have paid it more heed, but now I live apart, and allow consuls and pretors and the like to pass on, almost unheeded—with all respect to your commander, Lucius.’ ‘I understand you accompany him on his pleasant expedition, Centurion?’ said Afer. ‘As a most intimate friend of the Prefect, you have, no doubt, been already acquainted with most, or all, of his arrangements,’ answered the other. ‘What—you going?’ observed Fabricius, with a disappointed air; ‘when then will you return?’ ‘I cannot tell you, Fabricius. Your nephew will, most probably, know more than myself.’ ‘Indeed, uncle, my knowledge is overrated,’ responded Afer; ‘but, if you will take the opportunity, you will commission your preserver to bring you, when he does return, some pottery ware from the adjacent Surrentum—it is a town famed for its excellence in this manufacture, is it not, Centurion?’ The glance and the sneer of the speaker were malicious enough, whilst the cheeks of the young soldier flushed deeply at the allusion. The swift eyes of his host drank all in; he had already gathered sufficient to see that his guests were not altogether so ignorant of each other and each other’s affairs as he had at first supposed. The mounting colour on the Pretorian’s face, as well as the flash of his dark eyes, denoted that his nephew’s last words, from some reason, had proved as disagreeable as his former remarks. It became evident, also, that they were designedly so; and, therefore, without waiting for any reply, he proceeded quietly to discourse upon the artistic merits of pottery in general, with the fluency of a critic familiar with his subject. Afer, as a man of elegant taste in matters of art, was led into the discussion, which lasted for some time, during which the Centurion sat silent, lending only fitful attention to the conversation.