You had not found it in Althea, no, certainly not! O Hermon! if I could only make you see clearly how ill suited she, in whom everything is false, is to you--your art, your only too powerful strength, your aspiration after truth--" "You hate her," he broke in here in a repellent tone; but Daphne dropped her quiet composure, and her gray eyes, usually so gentle, flashed fiercely as she exclaimed: "Yes, and again yes! From my inmost soul I do, and I rejoice in it.

I have long disliked her, but since yesterday I abhor her like the spider which she can simulate, like snakes and toads, falsehood and vice." Hermon had never seen his uncle's peaceful daughter in this mood.

The emotions that rendered this kindly soul so unlike itself could only be the one powerful couple, love and jealousy; and while gazing intently at her face, which in this moment seemed to him as beautiful as Dallas Athene armed for battle, he listened breathlessly as she continued: "Already the murderous spider had half entangled you in her net.

She drew you out into the tempest--our steward Gras saw it--in order, while Zeus was raging, to deliver you to the wrath of the other gods also and the contempt of all good men; for whoever yields himself to her she destroys, sucks the marrow from his bones like the greedy harpies, and all that is noble from his soul." "Why, Daphne," interrupted Chrysilla, raising herself from her cushions in alarm, "must I remind you of the moderation which distinguishes the Greeks from the barbarians, and especially the Hellenic woman--" Here Daphne indignantly broke in: "Whoever practises moderation in the conflict against vice has already gone halfway over to evil.

She utterly ruined--how long ago is it ?--the unfortunate Menander, my poor Ismene's young husband.