Rose held out her hand, and Electra, after a perceptible hesitation, took it in her firm grasp. Having it, she seemed warmed, through the contact, to something more humble and more natural. Still holding it, she looked Rose in the face, as if she tried to read her deepest self.
"Tell me," she said, and stopped.
"Yes, Electra." The girl's voice was very soft. She felt as if she could tell Electra anything that would help her.
"Did he love you?" The words came with difficulty, whether from jealousy or pure interest Electra herself could not say.
Rose stood a moment, not so much considering her answer as grieved that she must give it.
"No, Electra," she said then. "My father loved nobody,—but himself."
Then, as Electra dropped her hand, she went away. But after three paces she returned, doubtful of her own judgment, but ready to venture it.
"Electra," she said, "the papers have begun already to report a woman's speeches to the Brotherhood. You saw that yesterday."
Electra bowed her head silently. She was white to the lips.
"That woman was Ivan Gorof's mistress. My father separated them, for a time, just as he is separating you now from all your past. Ivan Gorof accused him of it, and next day he died. But I know, as well as I know anything, that now she has gone back to Ivan Gorof's memory. She will preach the Brotherhood as he saw it. Don't you see, Electra, until a man rises that is strong enough, she will lead the Brotherhood herself?"