“And he must needs go out of his way to put me in that position! When all he had to do was to live the normal life of a Roman gentleman and all things would in time come right for both of us, he must needs strain the powers of human ingenuity, compel the forces of time and space, of wind and wave to conspire to produce that situation and make me suffer those unnecessary agonies! “Furious! “Of course I’m furious. “Never name him to me!” When Lutorius Rusco, the new Pontifex of Vesta, called on her she was less explosive, but still fuming. She received him in the large room at the east end of the peristyle of the Atrium, a sort of parlor which had on either side of it three very small rooms, the six, used as private offices by the six Vestals. There each had her writing desk, and the cabinets in which she kept her important papers, letters and such possessions. After they had exchanged greetings Lutorius motioned towards Brinnaria’s little sanctum. Brinnaria bridled. “I’ve nothing to say that we cannot say out here,” she advertised, “and I do not want to hear anything that cannot be said out here.” Lutorius was tactful and had his way. When they were alone, he said: “You were magnificent! You behaved splendidly. You could not have done better. We are all proud of you, from the Emperor down to the lowest slumgullion, every single Roman of us. You are certainly the most popular woman alive and your popularity is now of a sort to last as long as you live, complete and unqualified. You were popular before, but with considerable reservations. The hierarchy liked you, but were not sure that they ought to approve a Vestal who had perpetrated such exploits as yours, particularly your trouncing poor old Faltonius. The nobility admired you, but shook their heads over your stock-farming. The populace were enthusiastic about you, but, like the upper classes, were uneasy because of your expressed intention to marry at the end of your service and to marry a specified man, who had been your boyish lover. All classes acclaimed you as a woman, but nearly everybody was dubious about you as a Vestal. “Now nobody has any hesitation about feeling that you are all a Vestal should be, a priestess whose prayers are certain to be heard and answered.” Brinnaria made a wry face. “My prayers were not heard yesterday,” she sighed. “Almo was not killed. I was praying hard to have him dead and have it all over with and done with forever.” Lutorius turned on her a slow, benignant, indulgent smile. “Daughter,” he said, “you must remember that you are not the only Vestal. Four Vestals were praying that Almo be saved, each praying not only with her lips but with every fibre of her being. And your heart and soul were praying silently with them and against the fierce prayers of your lips.” “It is not so,” she denied. “Every fibre of me was praying as my lips prayed. My prayers were genuine.”