“We are the New Argonauts,” he said merrily, with the affectation of classicism which distinguished him; “we sail for the Colchian strand.” “It is to be hoped we find no Medea there,” observed Crispin with a smile. “No; our Medea is no sorceress, but a daughter of Venus, the modern Helen of Troy. Mr. Maurice is her Jason. You, Crispin, are Orpheus.” “And you, Count?” asked Maurice, amused at this fancy. “I?” said Caliphronas lightly. “Well, I hardly know. Shall I say Hercules?” “Or Hylas,” suggested the Rector idly. “Neither!” interposed Crispin pointedly. “We will take a passenger from another famous ship, and call him Ulysses, the craftiest of the Greeks.” Caliphronas frowned at this somewhat uncomplimentary remark, but immediately recovered his gayety, and burst out laughing. “Oh, I do not mind in the least. Ulysses, by all means. After all, he had some very pleasant times with Circe, Calypso, and such-like ladies.” “You seem to know your Homer, Count,” said the Rector, rather surprised at the classical knowledge of this ignorant young man. “Or his Lemprière,” muttered Crispin significantly. Decidedly Crispin was not polite; but, truth to tell, the prospect of a voyage in company with a man he disliked was almost too much for him, and it took all his self-restraint to prevent him breaking out into open war against the Greek. Caliphronas knew this, but, appearing to take no notice of such a hostile attitude, resolved to bide his time, and make Crispin suffer for such insolence at the first opportunity. It seemed as though poor Maurice would not have a very pleasant time of it, cooped up in a vessel with these two enemies; but, doubtless, when Crispin played host in his own yacht, he would treat the Count in a more courteous fashion. This was exactly the view Crispin took of the matter; and as he knew, according to the laws of hospitality, he would have to be scrupulously polite to Caliphronas on board The Eunice, he was taking advantage of the present time, and giving his humor full rein in the direction of his real feelings. If he could only have prevented Caliphronas coming by such a display of hostility, he would have been very glad, as he mistrusted the Greek very much; but Caliphronas was impervious to the shafts of irony, and, as long as he gained his ends, did not care what was said to him or of him. This brilliant stranger was a man entirely without pride, and would put up with any insults rather than jeopardize his plans by resenting such discourtesy. It was the last opportunity Crispin would have of showing his real feelings, so he took advantage of it; and though it was scarcely gentlemanly of him to do so, the Count was such an unmitigated scoundrel that honorable and courteous treatment was entirely lost on him.