"Did you meet her?"
He knew whom she meant, for his thought, too, was full of her.
"Yes," he said, and then swept even Rose aside as deflecting him from his purpose. "Electra, I have decided to go back to France."
Immediately she thought she saw why. Rose was going and he had to follow.
"What did she tell you?" she cried sharply. The pang that came astonished her, it was so savage. Even in the haste of the moment, she had time for a passing surprise that she could be so moved by Peter. He was looking at her with innocent perplexity.
"Rose?" he said. "Nothing. I told her I was coming here and she—" He paused, for he was on the point of adding, "She sent me." Peter could see how ill-judged that would be.
Electra, her proud glance on him, was considering, balancing probabilities. With his artist's eye he saw how handsome she was, how like, in the outer woman, to his imperial lady. Such spirit in her could only, it seemed, be spent for noble ends.
"Has she told you?" asked Electra, and there was something, he saw, beyond what he suspected. Her voice rang out against her will: "No, she hasn't. She means, for some reason, not to tell you. But she has had to tell me."
Peter was staring at her.
"Has something happened to her?" he asked quickly. "I must know."