“I dare say she is,” said Eteoneus, “but I left her a loop-hole of escape. She said she would send her boy away, where he wouldn’t be contaminated by the bad customs of this house, and I replied that if she separated him from Adraste now, she’d be the meanest woman I ever met, and I added that my experience was wide.”

“But why does she speak of getting him away from my house?” said Menelaus. “He doesn’t live here.”

“Doesn’t he! It’s the only place he lives.”

“You mean he’s here?”

“Every minute he can be,” said Eteoneus. “Helen told me not to let him come in, but you couldn’t keep him out if there were a fifty-foot wall round the estate.”

“This is the most complicated affair I’ve ever heard of!” said Menelaus. “My home appears to be in a condition of seige. Our one ambition, it seems, is to repel the Charitas family. Why did Helen wish to keep out the boy?”

“Adraste, of course.”

“What are you talking about? … Oh, now I remember! … Helen was afraid the girl might fall in love with him.”

“There was some danger of it,” said Eteoneus.

“You think the danger is past?” said Menelaus.

“Why, no!” said the gate-keeper; “it has happened—she’s going to have a child by him.”

“Merciful gods!” cried Menelaus; “in my house? a child? … I call that an outrage! … Is there a soul on the premises who isn’t a disgrace to society? I call that downright immoral! Couldn’t Helen stop it?”

“She wanted to—that was her purpose in trying to keep the boy out,” said Eteoneus, “but you know how it is, Menelaus, when two young people are in love. You were young once yourself.”

“Never!” said Menelaus, “never in that sense. I don’t understand the point of view, though I know people who hold it. If that’s right, I say, what is wrong?”