“Any man?” asked Menelaus. “Or is there a particular one?”

“Any one would do, I think,” said Hermione. “Please understand I’m not saying anything against her. In fact I don’t blame her—it’s all mother’s fault. If mother had taught her to control herself, to wait properly for love to come into one’s life, not to be violent and unmaidenly! But from some remarks Adraste has dropped in my presence, I fancy she thinks romance justifies anything, and of course I couldn’t argue with her—mother’s example and all.”

“Your own relation to Orestes has been a little informal, hasn’t it?” said Menelaus.

“That’s different,” said Hermione. “Our relation has been exceptional, but proper throughout. I hardly feel that we had any courtship, we passed so quickly to exchanging advice about the family difficulties. You’ve no idea how admirable Orestes is; I shall always be glad I knew him first in emergencies—he’s at his best under a strain. Of course, we’ve seen each other alone, when Eteoneus didn’t know, but you were away, and we thought of ourselves as always destined for each other.”

“You’ll have to remind your mother about the destiny,” said Menelaus. “Meanwhile—coming back to Adraste—I’m glad there’s no man about just now, unless you count Damastor. Helen thinks he may be making love to Adraste.”

“Nonsense!” said Hermione, “his mother has told me several times he’s fond of me—rather foolish of him, you might say, but it indicates, at least, the type he admires. He’s been carefully trained, and besides, he’s only a boy. I doubt if he would marry out of his tradition, and even if he thought of it, he hasn’t enough force of character yet to make love to Adraste, and face his mother. The sort of man I meant was Pyrrhus, perhaps; you might send for him after all, and marry him to Adraste. Then mother would have him in the family circle, as she desires, and I could take Orestes in peace.”

“I won’t have Pyrrhus,” said Menelaus. “I’ll tell her that again the moment I see her.”

“Tell her now,” said Hermione; “here she comes!”

III

“Helen,” said Menelaus, “I tell you again, I won’t have Pyrrhus here!”

“I’m glad you mentioned Pyrrhus,” said Helen; “I want to talk to Hermione about him, and it saves time to come straight to the point.”

“Then let me tell you at once, mother,” said Hermione, “I won’t marry Pyrrhus—nor Damastor.”

“Damastor? Heaven forbid!” said Helen.

“Didn’t you ask her to marry him?” said Menelaus. “She understands that you did.”

“Never in the world,” said Helen. “I told her that Charitas said he was in love with her, and I remarked that she might do worse than take him. That’s true, she might. But I want her to do better rather than worse. At the moment I was finding out whether Damastor had been paying his addresses to Hermione, as Charitas supposed. I learned what I suspected, that the boy was deceiving his mother. I have very little use for Damastor, as for Pyrrhus, I have not asked Hermione to marry him, and never shall. She may marry whom she chooses. She will, anyway. Indeed, I’ve never mentioned him to her, but I was about to tell her she ought to make his acquaintance before she chooses finally. You’ve been reporting our conversation, have you?”