"Strange to think what power a woman has—a woman of that stamp."
"Don't, Electra. You mustn't classify her. You can't."
She was considering it with a real curiosity.
"You don't blame her at all," she said. "You know Tom did wrong. You don't think she did."
"Electra," he said gently, "we can't go back to that. It's over and done with. Besides, it is between those two. It isn't our business."
"You could blame Tom!" She clung to that. He saw she would not release her hold.
"Electra!" He put out his hands and took her unwilling ones. Then he gazed at her sweetly and seriously; and when Peter was in gentle earnest, he did look very good. "Electra, can't you see what she is?"
His appealingness had for the instant soothed that angry devil in her. She wrenched her hands free, with the one hoarse cry instinct with mental pain,—
"You are in love with her!"
Peter stepped back a pace. His face paled. He could not answer. Electra felt the rush of an emotion stronger than herself. It swept her on, her poise forgotten, her rules of life snapping all about her.