"You don't give that as a reason!"
Rose had recovered herself and remembered again the things she meant to leave untouched.
"No," she said, "I don't give it as a reason. I only give it."
Electra was looking at her, rebuffed and puzzled; then a ray shot through her fog.
"Ah," she said, "wouldn't it be one of the inconceivable things if we who have followed his work and studied him at a distance knew him better than you who have had the privilege of knowing him at first hand?"
In spite of herself, Rose answered dryly,—
"It would be strange."
But Electra had not heard. There was the sound of wheels on the drive, and she looked out, to see Madam Fulton alighting.
"Excuse me, one moment," she said. "My grandmother has come home from town."
When Rose was alone in the room, she put her hand to her throat to soothe its aching. There were tears in her eyes. She seemed to have attempted an impossible task. But presently Electra was entering again, half supporting by the arm a fragile-looking old lady who walked inflexibly, as if she resented that aid. Madam Fulton was always scrupulous in the appointments of her person; but this morning, with the slightly fagged look about her eyes and her careful bonnet a trifle awry, she disclosed the fact that she had dressed in haste for a train. But she seemed very much alive, with the alert responsiveness of those to whom interesting things have happened.