Electra's eyes went involuntarily to the garden where Billy Stark was placidly walking up and down, smoking his cigar and stopping now and then to inspect a flower. The old lady interpreted the look.
"I know, I know," she said wickedly; "but that's nothing to do with it. Besides, if I marry Billy Stark, I shall go to London to live. What do I want of houses? Let things be as they are, Electra. You keep the house in your hands and let me visit you, just as I do now. It's all one."
Electra spoke with an unmoved firmness. Her face had the clarity of a great and fixed resolve.
"The house is yours; not legally, I own, but—"
"Don't you say ethically again, Electra," said the old lady. "I told you I couldn't bear it."
She sank back still further into her chair and glared. At last Madam Fulton was afraid of her own emotions. Such amazement possessed her at the foolish irony of things, such desire of laughter, that she dared not yield lest her frail body could not bear the storm. Man's laughter, she realized, shout upon shout of robust roaring, was not too heroic for this folly. Electra was speaking:—
"I insist upon the truth from others," she said, still from a basic resolution that seemed invulnerable. "I must demand it from myself."
"The truth, Electra!" groaned Madam Fulton. "You don't tell the truth."
"I don't tell the truth?"
"You don't know anything about it. You've thought about it so much that now you only tell horrible facts."