"Electra, my dear," she said, in a silken voice, "we have something to tell you, Mr. Stark and I. We have become engaged." Electra looked from one to the other, not even incredulity in her gaze, all a reproachful horror. Yet Electra did not for a moment admit the possibility of a joke on such a subject. She saw her grandmother, as she often did, peering down paths that led to madness, and even, as in this case, taking one. "Please do not mention it," grandmother was saying smoothly. "The engagement is not to be announced--not yet." Electra could not look at Billy Stark, even in reproof. The situation was too intolerable. And at that moment, flushed from her walk, eager, deprecating as she had to be in this unfriendly spot, Rose came in. She went straight to Madam Fulton, as if she were the recognized head of the house. "It was so good of you," she said. "I am so glad to come." Then she turned to Electra and Billy Stark with her quick, beautiful smile and her inclusive greeting. This was not the same woman who had run away to trysts under the tree, or even the woman Peter had seen when she returned, glowing, lovely, as if from a bath of pleasure. She was the Parisian, as Osmond had perhaps imagined her in his jesting fancy, regnant, subtle, even a little hard. Electra felt for a moment as if it were wise to be afraid of her. But they sat down, and she essayed the safe remark,-- "I believe luncheon is late." "What have you been doing with yourself, my dear?" Madam Fulton asked Rose, who was looking from one to another with an accessible brightness, as if she only wanted a chance to respond to everything beautifully. She bent a little, deferentially, toward Madam Fulton. "Reading aloud this morning," she said, "to grannie." "You call her grannie, do you?" "I begged to. I adore her." "Does she like it?" "Oh, yes, she likes it," Rose returned, with her lovely smile. "Don't you think she likes it?" "I know she does. That's what I can't understand. Every time I hear Electra say 'grandmother' it's like a nail in my coffin." "Grandmother!" exclaimed Electra, in an instant and quite honest deprecation. "That's it, my dear," nodded the old lady. "That's precisely it. Nail me down." Then luncheon was announced, and they went out, Rose with that instant deference toward Madam Fulton which suggested a hundred services while she delicately refrained from doing one. "I know you," said the old lady dryly, after they had sat down. "I know quite well what you are." "What, please?" asked Rose, bending on her that warm look which was yet never too flattering, and still promised an incense of personal regard not to be spoiled by deeds. "I know exactly what you are," said the old lady, with her incisive kindliness. "You're a charmer."