ation. "Mother ... isn't he ... different?"

"Juba," the mother said, "there is blood on his hands. He has killed.
Can't you see it in his eyes?"

"Yes. He has a gun and he has used it. But mother--there is a
gentleness in him. Could he not change? Perhaps I, myself...."

"Beware," the mother said sternly, "that you do not fall into your own
traps."

"But you have never really known a man, have you? I mean, except for
servants?"

"I have also," she said, "never had an intimate conversation with a
lion, nor shared my noonday thoughts with a spider."

"But lions and spiders can't talk. That's the difference. They have no
understanding."

"Neither have men. They are like your baby sister, Diana, who is
reasonable until it no longer suits her, and then the only difference
between her and an animal is that she has more cunning."

"Yes," Juba said resignedly, getting to her feet. "If thus it is
Written. Thank you, Mother. You are a wellspring of knowledge."

"Juba," Mother said with a smile, pulling the girl's cloak, for she
liked to please them, "would you like him for a pet? Or your personal
servant?"

"No," she said, and she could feel the breath sharp in her lungs. "I
would rather.... He would make a good spectacle in the gladiatorial
contests. He would look well with a sword through his heart."

She would not picture him a corpse. She put the picture from her mind.
But even less would she picture him unmanned.

He would rather die strong than live weak. And Juba--why should she
have this pride for him? For she felt pride, pangs as real as the
pangs of childbirth. There are different kinds of pride, but the worst
kind of pride is pride in strength, pride in power. And she _knew_
that was what she felt. She was sinning with full knowledge and she
could not put her sin from her.

Juba ran straight to the altar of Juno, and made libation with her own
tears. "Mother Juno," she prayed, "take from me my pride. For pride is
the wellspring whence flow all sins."

But even as she prayed, her reason pricked at her. For she was taught
from childhood to be reasonable above all things. And, having spoken
with this Man, having found him courteous and educated, she could not
believe he was beyond redemption simply because he was a Man. It was
true that in many ways he was strange and different. But were they not
more alike than different?

And as for his violences--were they much better, with their
gladiatorial comba