“God help her!” said Menelaus. “From my point of view she’s more likely than Hermione to get into trouble.”

“I should say the danger is about equal, though for different reasons. That silly Charitas boy is besieging her, and in an underhand way. He tells his mother it’s Hermione he’s in love with. I fear Adraste takes him too seriously.”

“Once in a while,” said Menelaus, “your vein of thought escapes me entirely. You don’t want Hermione to fall in love, because she hasn’t the love of life. You don’t want Adraste to fall in love, because she has. Isn’t anybody to fall in love?”

“For a woman,” said Helen, “falling in love means falling in love with a man. As usual, you overlook the central part of the problem. Certainly I don’t want either of these girls to give herself to an unpromising man. Orestes and Damastor are not much alike, except that they are both impossible. Orestes has no love of life—Adraste would see through him in a minute. Damastor pretends to have a love of life, but at bottom he’s the coward his mother has made him. I hope Adraste will find him out in time. I wish Pyrrhus were here.”

“Pyrrhus—Achilles’ son?”

“Yes.”

“What do you want with Pyrrhus?”

“I’d like him for a son-in-law,” said Helen.

“Now the cat’s out of the bag!” said Menelaus. “But would Hermione like him for a husband? I suppose we’ll leave her some privilege of choice? She’s a grown woman, and she never saw Pyrrhus in her life.”

“Ah, but there’s always a danger she may see him, any time. Better to see him now, before it’s too late. He has it in him—all I’ve been speaking of, and when Hermione sees him, she’ll recognise it without being told. Unless she’s past saving, she’ll lose her heart to him.”

“I’ve seen him often,” said Menelaus, “and I didn’t lose my heart. There’s nothing wonderful about Pyrrhus.”

“Oh, there isn’t?” said Helen. “I really thought there was. I understood that you and Agamemnon had to ask his help after his father died. Perhaps there was nothing wonderful about Achilles, either. We needn’t argue about terms. Pyrrhus is the kind of miracle I want for Hermione. When I think of a passionate excellence, of a soul alive, I think of that young man. For a good reason, too—he was the child of a great love.”

“A love-child, you mean,” said Menelaus. “Something shady, as you’d expect of Achilles. His birth was a scandal.”

“It was not!”

“It certainly was!”

“It certainly wasn’t!”

“Oh, very well! I dare say it looks quite edifying to you. He masqueraded as a girl, and so got into Lycomedes’ house, to be a companion to the old man’s daughters. One of them soon found herself the mother of Pyrrhus. By all means, let’s introduce him to Hermione as soon as we can!”

“You’re not fair, Menelaus! It was his own mother who tried to bring up Achilles as a girl, because she knew he would die in battle, and she hoped desperately to cheat fate. I don’t admire her strategy, but any one could understand it. Achilles didn’t masquerade a moment after he was old enough to realise the trick. He never did an underhand thing. Deidamia wasn’t deceived or betrayed!”