"It was the natural thing, Electra. She has no home, poor child!—nor money, except what Tom left in his purse. He'd been losing pretty heavily just before. I say, it seemed the natural thing to come to you. Half this place was his. His wife belongs here." The last argument sounded to him unpardonably crude, as to an imperial lady, but he ventured it. Then he looked at her. With his artist's premonition, he looked to see her brows drawn, her teeth perhaps set angrily upon a quivering lip. But Electra was again pale. Her face was marble to him, to everything.
"I shall fight it," she said inexorably, "to the last penny."
He gazed at her now as if she were a stranger. It was incredible that this was the woman whose hand he had kissed but the moment before. He ventured one more defense.
"Electra, you have not seen her."
"I shall not see her. Where is she—in New York?"
"Here."
"Here!"
"At grandmother's. I left her there. I thought when we had had our little talk you would come over with me and see her, and invite her home."
"Invite her here?"
"I thought so."