"That was what she told me, Peter. She told grandmother, too. For some reason she has abandoned her deception. She has a reason for ending it. That was what she said. Tom never married her."
Peter's face was blazing, the indignant blood in it, the light darting from his eyes. He straightened. His hands clenched. His voice was thick with anger.
"Tom never married her?"
"That was what she told us."
"The damned scoundrel!"
Electra had been regarding him in serene certainty of her own position and her ability to hold it. But human nature flashed out in her, the loyalty of blood.
"Are you speaking of my brother?" she demanded.
"I am speaking of your precious brother. And I might have known it." Ire, gathering in him, suffused his face anew. "I might have known Tom Fulton would do the dastardly trick in any given situation. Of course he never married her."
"You don't seem to think of her," she reminded him, under her breath.
"Not think of her! What else am I thinking of? Poor child! poor child!"