Why dost thou keep thine husband ever hot
Against me?

CLYTEMNESTRA.

'Tis his mood. And thou art not
So gentle, child!

ELECTRA.

My spirit is too sore!
Howbeit, from this day I will no more
Hate him.

CLYTEMNESTRA (_with a flash of hope_).

O daughter!--Then, indeed, shall he,
I promise, never more be harsh to thee!

ELECTRA.

He lieth in my house, as 'twere his own.
'Tis that hath made him proud.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Nay, art thou flown
To strife again so quick, child?