Next day, sure enough, a feast was preparing in the house. Theria watched fearfully. Was the Argive really coming among the other guests? She tried to keep out of her father’s way, but she had to face him at luncheon. Nikander, where his family was concerned, was very frank and childlike. “Well, Theria,” he said, “what do you suppose has happened? A young man comes asking for your hand.” Theria’s heart thumped so that she had to stop eating. “His name is Eëtíon.[2] He is from Argos, one of the handsomest youths I ever saw. What do you think of that, Daughter?” [2] Note: pronounced A-e-teé-on. “I do not know,” she managed to falter. “My dear, why tremble?” smiled her father. “The youth does not concern you. But the fellow is curiously headlong. Of course I did not discuss dower with him. But he offered it. He said: ‘I want no dower. I have seen your daughter in a festival procession. Her beauty is enough without dower!’ Now in what procession could he have noticed you, Theria? I do not quite like it that he should have seen you.” “I do not know,” she said, again bowing her head. She was in mortal fear lest he see her fear. But he turned to Melantho— “By Hermes, Melantho, I do like the youth. He quitted Argos because he is too loyal a Hellene to stay there. I like that. Timon knew the young man’s father, says the family is one of the most upright in Argos. The boy shows his race. Beautiful fellow, astonishingly beautiful.” (The Greek could not but dwell on beauty whenever he met it.) “The children of such a youth would be glorious children.” “But, Father, must I—must I marry an Argive?” Nikander threw back his head with laughter. It had been weeks since Theria had heard him laugh. “No, Theria, your children would be glorious, but they would not be legitimate. Eëtíon has purchased citizenship in Delphi, but he is still metic, a foreigner. Of course, you will not marry him.” Nikander voiced the pride that was in every Greek citizen—the pride and the isolation. No man could take full citizenship in a city not his own. No marriage with a foreigner (born say fifty miles distant) was counted legal by any government. This fact, instinctive in Theria’s mind, had steeled her heart against the Argive. Oh, what right had he to come to the house even as her father’s guest? She dared not object. She was not supposed to know of his coming. The dinner guests assembled early. Theria and her mother had their supper upstairs. Then Theria went off to bed so as not to hear anything of the feast. But she could not sleep. She did not want the youth to hear her song. She tossed and tossed on her hot couch. What must they be doing now at the feast? Talking of the war? Ah, yes, that surely. They would not be singing songs in these war-troubled days, even at symposia. If she had only dared to ask Dryas not to sing. But was he singing? Oh, if she only knew.