er threshold, and it looked its majesty. MacLeod had a tremendous
dignity of bearing added to the gifts nature had endowed him with at the
start. He was a giant with the suppleness of the dancer and athlete. His
strong profile had beauty, his florid skin was tanned by the sea, his
blue eyes were smiling at Electra, and in spite of the whiteness of his
thick hair he did not seem to her old. She would have said he had the
dower of being perennially young. Meantime Billy Stark, who had known
him at once from his portraits, had named him to her, and the great man
had taken her hand. He had explained that he was in advance of his time,
that he had driven to Peter's and had been told that the young man was
probably here. So he had strolled over to find him.

"He is not here," said Electra. "Please come in." She was breathless
with the excitement of such notability under her roof. She led the way
to the sitting-room, judging hastily that grandmother was too shaken by
her mysterious attack to see a stranger, and also even tremblingly
anxious to speak with him before any one could share the charm. MacLeod
followed her, offering commonplaces in a rich voice that made them
memorable, and Billy stayed behind to throw away his cigar, and debate
for an instant whether he need go in. Then he heard a voice from the
library softly calling him.

"Billy, I want you."

He stepped in through the long window, and there was Madam Fulton, half
laughing, half crying, and shaking all over. He ran to her in
affectionate alarm.

"Billy," said she, "I've had a temper fit."

Billy put his arm about her and took her to the sofa. There he sat down
beside her, and she dropped her head on his shoulder.

"Shoulders are still very strengthening, Billy," said she, laughing more
than she cried, "even at our age."

"They're something to lean on," said Billy. "There! there, dear! there!"

Presently she laughed altogether, with no admixture of tears, and Billy
got out his handkerchief and wiped her face. But she still shook, from
time to time, and he was troubled for her.

"Now," she said presently, withdrawing from him and patting her white
hair, "Now I think we've weathered it."

"What was it?" ventured Billy.

"I can't tell you now. I might die a-laughing. But I will." She rested
her hand on his shoulder a moment before she went away. "I'll tell you
what it is, Billy," she said, "the beauty of you is you're so human.
You're neither good nor bad