"That's what I came here for." She settled more snugly into the chair, and folded her hands on her knee. He looked at them curiously, their slender whiteness, and noted, with interest, that she had no wedding ring. She continued, "I got breathless in the house. Grandmother was tired and went to bed. Peter has gone to see his cruel lady."
"Why do you call her cruel?"
"She won't hold out her hand to me."
That simple and audacious candor overwhelmed him. He had never known anything so facile yet direct. It made life incredibly picturesque and full of color. He laughed from light-heartedness, and it came into his head that, in her company, it would be easy to believe "as many as six impossible things before breakfast." But she was continuing:—
"Don't you find her cruel?"
"Electra? We haven't exchanged a dozen words in a year."
"Why not?"
"I'm not a notability. It's not remarkable to raise seeds for sale."
"But isn't she cruel?"
He thought a moment, and then answered gravely,—