ts because her feet had strayed
beyond the marriage paddock, would make short work of their mourning?

Aurelia's declination she had expected. Her inordinate pride in
being Caesar's mother had not modified her arrogant, old-time
severity toward the freedom of modern life. But that Calpurnia should
plead her husband's absence as an excuse was ominous. Everyone knew
that he dictated her social relations. Terentia had been implacable
since that amusing winter when Clodia had spread a net for Cicero.
For her own sex Clodia had the hawk's contempt for sparrows, but if
Caesar as well as Cicero were to withdraw from her arena, she might
as well prepare herself for the inverted thumbs of Rome.

On her list of acceptances, outside of her own sisters, who had won
intellectual freedom in the divorce courts, she found the names of
only two women--virtuous Hortensia, who was proud of her emancipated
ideas, and Marcia, who was enjoying her husband's Cyprian business
as much as the rest of the world. Men, on the other hand, bachelors
and divorces, abounded. Catullus, luckily, was still in Verona,
nursing his dull grief for that impossible brother. But she was glad
to be assured that his friend, Rufus Caelius, would come. If Terentia
and Tullia had tried to poison the mind of Cicero's protege against
her, obviously they had not succeeded. He was worth cultivating. His
years in Asia Minor had made a man of the world out of a charming
Veronese boy and he was already becoming known for brilliant work
at the bar. The house he had just bought faced the southern end of
her own garden and gave evidence alike of his money and his taste.

And yet, in spite of Caelius's connections, he was still too young
to wield social power, and it was with intense chagrin that Clodia
realised that his was the most distinguished name upon her dinner
list. Indifferent to the opinion of the world as long as she could
keep her shapely foot upon its neck, she dreaded more than anything
else a loss of the social prestige which enabled her to seek pleasure
where she chose. Was this fear at last overtaking her swiftest pace?
Her secretary, watching her, prepared himself for one of the violent
storms with which all her servants were familiar. But at this moment
a house slave came in to ask if she would see Lucretius. "Him and
no one else," she answered curtly, and the Greekling slipped
thankfully out as the curtains were drawn aside to admit a man, about
thirty-fi