"Your daughter has told me"—She hesitated for a moment, and then, still confident that his worship of the truth must be as exalted as her own, ended with unstinted candor, "She says she was not my brother's wife."
Electra was looking at him, and it appeared to her now as if, in a bewildering way, his gaze absorbed hers. It was very strange, how he seemed to draw the intelligence of the eye into his and hold it unresisting. She hardly knew how he looked, whether surprised or sympathetic, or whether he was moved at all. But she was conscious of being gripped by some communion in which she acquiesced. After a moment he leaned forward and took her hand.
"Will you promise me something?" he asked.
"Anything!" The quickness of the answer was as eloquent as its force.
"Promise me that this thing—this subject—shall never come between you and me."
"Gladly."
"We won't talk of it."
"No."
"We won't ask each other how it seems to us."
"No."