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bring you. He said it would be delightful to meet a pretty
girl.” He grinned at her, his grey eyes alight with wicked
amusement. “Spiro loves the company of pretty girls and
he has been shut up on Epilison for weeks, writing a new
concerto. He jum
ped at you like a hungry trout jumping
at a fly.”
Kate flushed. “I’m sure he didn’t,” she protested.
“Wait until you meet him. You’ll see I am telling the
truth. You’ll come?”
“If you’re sure ...” she said nervously. “Are Pallas and
Sam going, too?”
“No,” he said firmly. “Too many people would irritate
him. He hates a crowd.”
“Pallas is a pretty girl,” she suggested innocently, her
eyes on his face.
He grinned at her. “Spiro has known her since she was
knee-high to a cicada—he would squabble with her. There
is something childlike about him, you know. He and
Pallas always quarrel, but they are fond of each other.”
Kate excused herself early, pleading fatigue, and he
stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching her. “If your
back is aching I have some liniment that might help,” he
offered, seeing her involuntarily holding her back.
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Thank you.”
“I promise not to kiss the sore place again,” he offered
teasingly.
Red and furious, she did not answer, but ran quickly
up the stairs.
Next morning she was downstairs early for breakfast,
