Electra pondered.
"If that is true," she said, "I must call on her."
"True? I tell you it is true. Electra, what are you saying?"
But Electra was looking at him with those clear eyes where dwelt neither guile nor tolerance of the guile of others.
"Did she tell you so," she inquired, "or do you know it for a fact?"
He had himself well in hand now, because it had sprung into his wise artist brain that he must not break the beauty of their interview. It was fractured, but if they turned the hurt side away from the light, possibly no one would know, and the outer crystalline sheen of the thing would be deceptively the same.
"I know Markham MacLeod," he said. "I have seen them together. She calls him father."
A wave of interest swept over her face.
"Do you mean you really know him, Peter?"
"Assuredly."