“I never heard that they exchanged a single unpleasant word,” said Eteoneus. “A man can die, you know, without quarrelling with his wife.”

“You know what I mean—Clytemnestra was unfaithful to him.”

“Oh, that!” said Eteoneus. “Yes, I know about that, but I doubt if he did. His death was so sudden, she probably didn’t have time to tell him.”

“He must have known!” said Charitas. “What I heard was that he tried to kill her, and quite right, too, but she called so loud, Ægisthus came to the rescue, and together they murdered Agamemnon.”

“That’s quite a story, if it were only true,” said Eteoneus. “Who told you that?”

“It came indirectly from this house—one of your servants and one of mine,” said Charitas. “I hoped to get the facts from Helen.”

“As soon as she comes in,” said Eteoneus, “I’ll tell her you want to know whether Agamemnon tried to kill her sister first, or whether her sister just killed Agamemnon.”

“Oh, is that the way it happened? I hadn’t heard that version. Who brought the report, Eteoneus?”

“I believe some other friends called earlier in the day. The only thing we know is that Agamemnon died shortly after his return.”

“He must have known how she was behaving, and he had a fierce temper when he was roused, hadn’t he?”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Eteoneus. “I never tried to find out, when he used to come here. He was a very remarkable man, I always thought. His wife was remarkable, too, for more than her good looks.”

“Yes,” said Charitas, “many thought her much more beautiful than Helen. The difference between them, all their lives, illustrates how accidental fame and success are. Everyone has heard of Helen’s beauty; few know about Clytemnestra. Helen lived a scandalous life with another man, and her husband has taken her back—isn’t it odd?—and Clytemnestra’s misbehaviour has led to murder … You think she didn’t kill him in self-defence?”

“There’s a good deal to be said for self-defence,” said Eteoneus, “only I don’t know that anyone attacked her, and I didn’t say she killed Agamemnon. He’s dead. That’s what I said. Was there any other message you wished to leave for Helen?”

“I haven’t left any message yet,” said Charitas. “Tell her I called, of course … Eteoneus, don’t you think Menelaus and his brother had queer notions about their wives?”

“They had exceptional wives,” said Eteoneus, “but I don’t know which of their notions you refer to.”

“They were strangely gullible, that’s what I mean. You seem to think, and I’m sure no one knows better than you do, that Agamemnon came home unsuspecting. The idea!”