pon the truth from others," she said, still from a basic
resolution that seemed invulnerable. "I must demand it from myself."

"The truth, Electra!" groaned Madam Fulton. "You don't tell the truth."

"I don't tell the truth?"

"You don't know anything about it. You've thought about it so much that
now you only tell horrible facts."

This Electra could not fathom, but it was evident that she was putting
it away in her consciousness for a thoughtful moment. Madam Fulton was
rallying. She felt a little stronger, and she knew she was mentally more
vigorous than her young antagonist. It was only in an unchanging will
that Electra distanced her.

"Electra," she said, "you've got to be awfully careful of yourself."
There was a wistful kindness in her voice. It was as if she spoke to one
whom she wished to regard leniently, though she might in reality shower
her with that elfin raillery which was the outcome of her own
inquietude.

Electra opened her eyes in a candid wonder.

"Careful of myself?" she repeated. "Why, grandmother?"

"You've trained so hard, child. You've trained down to a point where
it's dangerous for you to try to live."

"Trained down, grandmother? I am very well."

"I don't mean your body. I mean, you've thought of yourself and your
virtues and your tendencies, and tested yourself with tubes and examined
yourself under a glass until you're nothing but a bundle of
self-conscious virtues. Why, it would be better for you if you were a
care-free spontaneous murderess. You'd be less dangerous."

"Suppose we don't talk about it any more," said Electra, in that
soothing accent suited to age.

"But I've got to talk about it. I never have done any particular duty by
you, but I suppose the duty's there. I've got to tell you when you sail
into dangerous latitudes. You mark my words, Electra, assure as you sit
there, you've trained so hard that there's got to be a reaction. Some
day you'll fly all to pieces and make an idiot of yourself."

Electra had risen.

"Excuse me for a moment, grandmother," she said. "I must get you a glass
of wine."

Madam Fulton, too, got up and rested one hand upon the table.

"If you leave the room before I've finished," she cried, "I'll scream it
after you." A small red spot had come upon each cheek. She looked like a
fairy god-mother, a pinpoint of fury in the eye. "I insist upon your
listening. God Almighty meant you for a handsome, well-behaved woman.
You're not clever.