“Of course; you want him to have a will of his own, and you’ll ask him to do just as you say. Well, for the time being he looks innocent. That’s because we’re so much older, I dare say. The rest of it is probably illusion, except his feet. There’s very little to be said for feet, after they’ve been used, but in children they are forms of exquisiteness. Otherwise the healthy young seem beautiful to their elders, whether they are or not. It’s a strong reason for having an elder generation. There, you’re looking tired again. I’m going now.”

“Just a moment—please don’t go. I’ve something I ought to say, if I’m to be frank, as you always urge us to be. I do appreciate your cheery talk and the way you have pretended that all is well with me. It’s like you. But you won’t think me ungrateful if I detect the generous effort in your remarks about life and youth and bringing up children. This isn’t the way we talked, give and take, when I was happy. Shall we ever be the same to each other again? I know I’m not quite the friend I was; to some extent I’ve become an object of pity. I owe it to you that I have roof over me, this bed under me.”

“Don’t say such things, nor think them. You are exactly as you were, one of my household, and particularly dear to me.”

“No, Helen, you can’t deceive me. Menelaus wanted to send me away.”

“Of course he said so! Nothing could be more correct. Nobody will ever be able to say that my husband countenanced irregular behaviour in his home. He said you positively must go, and there was to be no more talk. There was no more talk, and you stayed. That’s Menelaus. He’s really the kindest man who ever tried to keep the world straight. He is willing to waive the results so long as he can have an audience. The true reason why he brought me home instead of killing me, was that he wanted to save up someone to talk at in his old age. He never has said of you half the bad things he says to me, in the daily round. Neither he nor I can spare you; you will have to be the daughter of the house, now that Hermione is gone.”

“Gone where? I haven’t heard. Has she married Orestes?”

“She has left us—run away. I dare say she’ll marry Orestes, if she hasn’t done so already. Anyway, we have lost her. Her father threatened in an impulsive moment to arrange a match with Pyrrhus, and Hermione took him seriously, or pretended to. It gave her a first-rate excuse to throw herself on Orestes for protection. We don’t know where she is.”