ve, as 'the daughter
of Markham MacLeod.' That will give your afternoon an added flavor."

Electra answered seriously, "Thank you," and resolved to do it. Madam
Fulton, she thought, would have the decency not to break the situation
by her intemperate "Mrs. Tom's." Electra had no experience of contrition
in her grandmother, but she could but feel that any woman who had done
what that old lady had might be trusted to observe the decencies for at
least a week thereafter.

"That was my public name," Rose added hastily, as if she had invalidated
her claim. "I sang for eight months or more as Rose MacLeod."

It was a new triumph for her, Electra realized when the day was over.
The ladies came down from the city and, in perfect weather, sat about on
the veranda and in the two front rooms, while Rose, at the piano, sang
to them and then gave them a charming talk. Electra, who could do no
creative work, could not take her eyes from the young creature, all
eager brilliancy and dressed in a perfect Paris gown. The dress, Electra
knew, was no finer than she herself could amply afford to buy in her own
country. Only it was worn with a grace, the air of a woman born to be
looked at, and used to fervid tributes. The other women, too, were
worshipers of notability, and Rose knew she had raised a wave of
admiration. To her, unused to the American woman's passion for new
things, it was a real tribute, something she could count upon to-morrow
after the epoch of to-day; and the afternoon left her exhilarated and
warm in momentary triumph. The women crowded about her with intemperate
comment and question. They wanted to know as much about her father as
they did about her. They were all eager to show their conversance with
the Brotherhood, its aims and potencies, and they were more than ready
to besiege her father and to entertain her. Some of them even wanted to
make dates for the coming autumn, and Rose found herself the recipient
of a score of visiting cards, all pointing to new alliances. She slipped
away before the afternoon was over, to spare Electra the pains of
thanking her, and going home, found Markham MacLeod at the gate.
Immediately her hopes died. She had forgotten the issues she had to
reckon with in him. From these no ladies' club could save her.

He was affection itself in greeting her.

"I have just come," he explained. "Peter is in town and Mrs. Grant is
taking her afternoon rest. Let us walk a little way."

"I haven'