“Blood will tell,” said Helen. “I’ve always considered that the weak side of the house.”

“Clytemnestra weak?” cried Menelaus. “Do you know your sister? Long ago I told Agamemnon he was a brave man to marry her. He’ll believe me now, if ever he gets through with those bonfires of his and comes home. The night we parted I suggested that he wasn’t eager to face his wife again. He’ll remember the remark.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“Well, I didn’t like to tell you before—she’s your sister—it’s one of the things I was thinking about when you came in. Eteoneus says Clytemnestra is finished with Agamemnon—she has been living quite openly with Ægisthus, and she intends to have it out with my brother when he comes back. There’ll be a dreadful dispute. I’m sorry for Ægisthus, whichever way it ends. If I knew just where Agamemnon is now—when you came in I was wondering how I could help him without hanging about Clytemnestra’s door-step in an awkward way.”

“She never did know how to treat a husband,” said Helen, “and though I don’t care for Agamemnon, I’ve always felt sympathy for him. Any man deserves a certain attitude on the part of his wife. If it’s impossible for her, she ought to leave. But I don’t see how Clytemnestra’s behaviour is an argument for marrying our daughter to her son.”

“None at all,” said Menelaus, “nor an argument against it. Don’t condemn Orestes before we know him. Why not send for the boy and see what he is like? Or wait till he calls—Eteoneus says he’ll be here soon.”

“How does he know that?”

“He doesn’t really know it, but he says Orestes has been coming at regular intervals, and he may be expected shortly.”

“So Eteoneus has been encouraging this affair when my back was turned?”

“You wouldn’t think so, to hear him talk,” said Menelaus. “He seems to like Orestes less than you do. They’ve quarrelled—cursed each other, according to our gate-keeper, and I dare say he didn’t tell me the worst. On the whole he supports your side of the question.”

“Then he probably told you some sound reasons for not approving of Orestes. What does he say of him?”

“Since you press me,” said Menelaus, “he fears that Orestes too much resembles you—in ideas, that is.”

“That’s his mother in him,” said Helen. “Eteoneus never understood me. I’m sure the boy is Clytemnestra all over again; children usually take after the parent of the other sex.”

“Nonsense!” said Menelaus. “You can’t account for children so simply. Besides, that amounts to holding them responsible for their parents, and it isn’t fair. As a matter of fact, they usually behave much more prudently.”

“That’s rarely a virtue on their part,” said Helen. “It should be laid to their immaturity or to improper bringing-up.”

“There you go!” exclaimed Menelaus. “How are you expecting to make a sane person believe that prudent behaviour is the result of a bad education?”