The mention of his father brought sudden anguish to Telemachus, sudden because he had had his thoughts on Menelaus’ fine house. He was about to reveal his name and his errand, when Helen entered from her vaulted room. How could it be? Yet it could be no other! His mother had been careful to tell him how old Helen was, and he knew what she had been through. He had expected Aphrodite, a sophisticated goddess, charming as sin. As she walked toward him he saw that she was young and maidenly, and he knew what Artemis must be like. With her came a girl who seemed older but probably wasn’t. They called her Adraste. She set a chair for Helen, with a footstool, and brought her the wool for spinning in a golden basket set on wheels. Telemachus forgot his father, forgot his mother, forgot the suitors. All his life he tried to be sorry he forgot, but he never was.

Helen greeted him, and took the wool in her hands, and entered the conversation as though Telemachus were a very old friend, or as though she hadn’t really noticed him yet. Then she let her hands fall in her lap.

“Menelaus, I suppose we shouldn’t ask the stranger who he is before he is ready to tell us, but if he is willing, I’d like to make a guess at his name.”

She looked straight at Telemachus, and he was so happy he felt foolish.

“I did not know,” she said, “that two people could be so much alike. Of course you see the resemblance, Menelaus.”

“No, I don’t,” said Menelaus.

“Oh, you must have, the moment he appeared!”

“Perhaps I must, but I didn’t,” said Menelaus.

“I’ll have to tell you then—Odysseus,” said Helen.

“Upon my word, I do see it now!” said Menelaus. “And I spoke to him of his father, just before you joined us; I noticed his interest in what I was saying. Upon my word! There’s no mistake, is there?”

Menelaus looked at him, and he looked at Menelaus, and he noticed an expression on the older man’s face which hadn’t been there before his wife came in. A suggestion of serenity, or almost that; of satisfaction, let us say. Telemachus admitted he was himself. But he wasn’t quite himself. They talked for hours, or Menelaus did, and since there was no word of his father, Telemachus listened politely and watched Helen and her weaving hands, and his soul went out of him utterly. Then Helen said there had been talk enough, and Menelaus looked slightly rebuked, but used to it, and he asked Helen if supper was going to be served.

Helen came to the young man with a goblet of wine in her hand, and said: