“Mother isn’t flirting with Orestes, if that’s what you mean. Orestes is not the easily flattered kind. And she didn’t say she admired him—only that she was sorry for him. He thought her whole position showed remarkable self-respect.”

“She has that,” said Menelaus. “Did your husband say he thought she was extremely beautiful?”

“No, only that she was far handsomer than he had been led to expect.”

“You see—he’s cautious with you already! Don’t let him see her again, Hermione. It has happened too often for me to mistake the symptoms. He will talk to her for her good, and she will listen in the most docile flattery, and she won’t say a word that isn’t correct, but he will never get over it. He’ll dream of her waking and sleeping, and in her honour he may finally throw away his life, as Paris did, though I doubt if she elopes with any more of them. You think you have a good husband. I begin to see that keeping him out of this house was a kindness to you. If you only had shielded him from Helen!”

“If there is any real danger,” said Hermione, “I wish I had thought of it in time. It’s easier not to get Orestes started than to stop him afterwards. I thought, of course, it would be to his advantage to see mother, since she suggested it. You remember I didn’t like the proposal at first, and then I had to persuade him to go. But he certainly is ready to go the second time. How do you think I had better divert him?”

“Get him away if you can,” said Menelaus. “If you begin telling him not to admire her, he’ll guess that you’re jealous. I wish I could tell him a few things!”