Billy Stark had been nearing the door, and now he was out of the room.
"Have you told Peter how you feel about it?" asked the old lady keenly.
Electra seemed to herself to be unjustly upon her own defense when she had meant to place the stranger there.
"He knows it, grandmother." She spoke as impatiently as decorum would allow.
The old lady watched her for a moment steadily. Then she inquired,—
"Do you know what's the matter with you, Electra?"
"With me, grandmother?"
"You're jealous, child. You're jealous of Peter, because the girl's so pretty."
Electra stood still, the color surging over her face. She felt out of doors for all the world to jeer at, and without the blameless habit of her life. Nothing, Electra told herself, even at that moment, had the value of the truth. If she believed herself to be jealous, she must not shirk it, degrading as it was. But she would not believe it.
"You must excuse me, grandmother," she said, with dignity. "I can't discuss such things, even with you."