“Oh, Helen, don’t tell me that; I’ve hoped for the best!” said Charitas. “I can’t believe it as I look at you. You look so—you won’t mind the word?—so innocent! And for you to contradict the creditable story yourself, and insist on being—on being what we thought at first! I can’t make you out at all. And I can’t understand now why you came home with Menelaus.”

“Or why he came home with me,” said Helen. “That is the queer part of it. All the relatives and friends are puzzled. I’m not going to suggest any explanation of his conduct. But he did want me to come back; he intended to kill me, but he changed his mind. If you want to go deeper than that into his motives, Charitas, ask him yourself sometime when he is over here. But I can give you at once my own explanation of myself. Thank you, dear Charitas, for saying I look innocent. I am innocent. That is, of everything except love. From what you said this afternoon, perhaps you think love is a crime. Let’s compromise, and say it’s a great misfortune—a misfortune one wouldn’t have missed. There’s every reason why we should be frank about our misfortunes, about our faults, too, for that matter, and certainly about the misery our faults and our misfortunes bring on others. Now if I allowed you to believe that shabby story about Egypt, I should be shirking the blame for all the trouble at Troy. I was there, and I was the cause of it all; to deny it would be to deny myself—to exist only in falsehood.”

“For goodness’ sake, Helen,” said Charitas, “I’ll go mad with your reasoning. You want the world to know you caused the trouble at Troy, and you want us to think you’re as innocent as you look. What’s your idea of innocence?”

“Charitas, I’m not easily provoked,” said Helen, “but I’ve a mind at this moment to learn what is your idea of respectability. Here we are sitting in your garden, in broad daylight; your servants and perhaps the neighbours can see what disreputable company you keep. Shall I go now, or not until you’ve heard the rest of my story?”

“Don’t be sensitive, Helen—finish the story. Of course I want to hear it. I hope for light.”