“By all means, if we are not blockaded in the mean time; but if we are, you will have to stay here.” “And The Eunice at Syra!” rejoined Crispin in a vexed tone. “Well, perhaps it will be for the best, as your sister, niece, and Mr. Carriston are on board, and won’t care about being mixed up in a battle.” “My sister!” repeated Justinian thoughtfully; “she was born after I left England, and I only caught a glimpse of her when I went back, so she is quite a stranger to me. Is she a—a pleasant sort of person?” “Well, she talks a good deal,” said Crispin, with some hesitation. “Then I am afraid she will tire me dreadfully,” said the Demarch dryly, “for I do not like chatterboxes. However, Helena will be glad to see her aunt. Will you not, child?” “Of course, papa. I will be glad to see all my relations if they are as charming as Cousin Maurice.” “Eunice is an angel.” “Of course,” said Helena mockingly; “that is because you love her. Why, Maurice says the same thing about me.” “What does Maurice say?” asked that gentleman, looking up from his letter. “That I am the dearest girl in the world,” laughed Helena, going up to him. “I will find that out when your milliner’s bills come in.” “Milliner!” said the child of Nature; “what is a milliner?” They all laughed at this, particularly Justinian, who pinched his daughter’s ear gently. “Ah, a milliner is a very important person, my child. She makes gowns.” “Like this white one of mine?” “No, more’s the pity,” said Crispin, with a laughing glance at the simple white garment; “if all gowns were of that style, the bills would not be so large, and husbands would frown less. Well, Maurice, and what says the Rector?” “He declines to commit himself to an opinion until he sees Melnos with his own eyes,” said Maurice, putting the letter in his pocket, “and is coming out especially to see the new Hellas. There, uncle, is that not a compliment?” “I will be glad to see Mr. Carriston,” observed Justinian a little stiffly, as Maurice thought. “Crispin, did Georgios see anything of Alcibiades?” “No, nothing.” “Or hear anything?” “Not a word.” “They must be keeping all their preparations very quiet,” muttered the Demarch to himself as he went inside; “but, for all that, I believe an attack will take place within the week.” The party on the terrace broke up after his withdrawal, leaving Alexandros still busy at his electric apparatus, which was in complete order by night-time. After a merry supper, every one came out again on to the terrace to make experiments with the light, and Alexandros went away to look after his dynamo.