Agatha soon realised she had met her match in these two youths, once Marinus had confronted her. She relented in her blackmail for a brief time, giving the lad a respite. Still, the time was slipping away the longer he dilly-dallied around the Hermenides household, and Marinus knew that if he was to accomplish all his plans he would have to keep things moving at a quicker pace. Fortunately he had a plan for the next stage of his offensive, and he put it into action the very next day.

  He was reliant on chance to some degree, though he also knew it was Chrysanthe's habit to wander in the orchard at a certain time of day, so he struck out in the hope of meeting her just before lunch. He had slicked back his hair, anointed and perfumed himself with the best ointments Onesimus had to offer, and approached the estate with a bouquet of wild flowers he had picked that morning. The flowers were not for Chrysanthe, nonetheless they were crucial to his plan.

  Passing through the aisles of trees, he did not need to use the lookout post to locate Chrysanthe, who had wandered in of her own accord. Marinus made a beeline for the same corner of the orchard, albeit he put on a forlorn and distracted look, so that he appeared to bump into her by chance.

  "Marinus!" she exclaimed. "I did not expect to find you here."

  He had the funny feeling she was not being entirely truthful. For a brief moment he wondered if she had intended to eavesdrop on Pelleus and him. He dismissed the thought.

  "Oh, it's you..." he said in a dull voice, as if he had not heard her. "I thought... Pusanella, you know – she agreed to meet me, but I've been waiting here for ages. Oh, what's the use..."

  He cast the bouquet on the ground in a dramatic gesture. Chrysanthe was shocked.

  "You haven't had another row, have you?" she asked, a note of concern in her voice. Marinus was too busy slouching his shoulders and glaring at the scenery with feigned frustration to steal a glance at her.

  "I-" Chrysanthe went on, "I saw you two arguing earlier, a few times. I wasn't eavesdropping!"

  Inwardly Marinus's heart leapt with joy, but he kept up his fa?ade of misery.

  "Oh it's no secret she's unhappy with me," he said, screwing up his face into a scowl. "I confess I am not delighted myself by -ah- certain arrangements..."

  He shot Chrysanthe a furtive look.

  "You don't mean... the engagement?" she asked in a stage whisper.

  Marinus turned his head about shiftily – looking very much like a young Agon – and then gave a little nod. Chrysanthe gasped.

  "You see," he said, "her old man rather talked me into the whole thing. Don't get me wrong – I like dear Pusanella very much, but there was a lot of pressure on me to 'do right by her', as if I was somehow toying with her affections. We were just having fun together; enjoying our freedom being away from home."

  Chrysanthe nodded with great sympathy.

  "Things moved fast out there at sea – faster than either of us was quite comfortable with – and then we were engaged, as Pusanella no doubt has told you. Well, fool that I am I promised her old man to stick by her and honour the engagement whatever happened. It ought to have been strictly between Pusanella and me, but I gave the fellow my word...

  "Now Pusanella is unhappy, and I just want to find Actaeon, her father, and straighten out the whole affair."

  "But if neither of you wants to be married," Chrysanthe put in, sounding hopeful, "what is it to him?"

  Marinus looked at her keenly, though he held his tongue.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  "It sounds to me," she went on, "as though you have 'done right by' Pusanella. You have brought her here to live with us, and you have not broken your word to mister Actaeon or whoever. I think you're being too hard on yourself."

  "You think so?" he asked, with the hint of a smile.

  "Yes, I do," she said. She looked at him steadily, inclining her head to one side as was her habit, and once again Marinus was shot through with a sense of her beauty. It hit him like a pang in the heart and he almost forsook his plans and declared his love right then. The whole pretext, the treachery and cunning, seemed a silly, sordid game, and he would willingly have cast it aside and come clean with her, but when he opened his mouth to speak all that came to his lips was her name.

  "Chrysanthe," he murmured to the wind. The sound was taken up by another – an angry echo resounded in the orchard.

  "Chrysanthe! What's going on here?" the voice said. It was the matron Mopsuestia. She bustled out from between a pair of pear trees, looking like some absurdly engorged fruit of theirs with her dumpy figure, and gave Marinus a strained greeting before rounding on her charge.

  "Mistress Chrysanthe, your mother wants to see you. Get up to the house at once!" Mopsuestia said, placing her hands on her hips. The girl threw an apologetic look at Marinus, curtsied, and left as she was bid. Her old duenna followed close upon her heels, not sparing a word for Marinus, who took his leave of the orchard.

  Chrysanthe found her mother upstairs, in her boudoir. She was standing by the window, gazing out across the gardens.

  "You called me?" Chrysanthe said in a sulky tone.

  "Don't act so surprised," Hippolyta snapped, "but tell me why exactly you have been lurking around the orchard lately? Mopsy tells me it is the trysting place of our two young friends."

  She turned a laser-focused gaze on her daughter, as if she were trying to emulate Medusa. But Chrysanthe could not be goaded into answering, so Hippolyta went on.

  "Eavesdropping is not an activity that becomes a young lady, Chrysanthe," she said. "Were you looking for instruction in the arts of coquetry? I daresay our ward, Pusanella, could teach us all a thing or two on that front."

  Chrysanthe noticed a note of bitterness had crept into her voice.

  "What have you got against Pusanella?" she asked.

  Hippolyta laughed – a high, humourless shriek.

  "Nothing at all!" she said. "I am simply in awe of her powers at beguiling poor, unsuspecting men..."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I know a hussy, and a tart, when I see one," Hippolyta said, and her face was flushed with colour. Probably she had spoken more than she would normally dare, but something in her daughter's resentful attitude had driven her over the line.

  "Pusanella? You're mad! Why, if you knew..."

  "She may have wound your father round her little finger, to say nothing of her dear Marinus, but I won't be so easily fooled!"

  Chrysanthe was speechless. What is her problem? she wondered. She could only assume her mother was jealous of Pusanella, but she could not imagine why.

  Perhaps Hippolyta felt she had gone too far, for she dismissed Chrysanthe now without any further warnings or instruction.

  "What a strange morning!" the girl said to herself. "And, come to think of it, where has Pusanella got to?"