"There!" He released her hand, and seemed also to free her, in some subtle way. He was smiling at her, and she felt a keen gladness, like a child who is told he has been good.
"Then we can be friends," he said, with a spontaneous relief, it seemed to her, like her own. "The best of friends."
"Yes. The best of friends."
Electra felt rich. Her heart swelled, as now she reflected that here was one who understood her. She had that warm consciousness common to all MacLeod's partisans, that his world and hers were alike. Each was mysteriously prevented by other people from enjoying the full freedom of that world, because each had been, until now, uncompanioned. But they had met at last. The path was plain. All sorts of gates were opening to them.
"Was that all?" MacLeod was asking her. "Were there other scenes?"
Immediately she wished to tell him everything. Yet this was difficult. She hesitated.
"I am"—she flushed redly—"I am not engaged to Peter. He doesn't care about me."
"My dear lady! He would say you do not care for him."
Then Electra saw her good fortune. She was enchanted with the freedom which had fallen upon her in time for her to accept a more desirable bondage. She lifted her head and looked at him in a proud happiness.
"No," she said, "I do not care for him. I never did. I see it now. I am free."