"Was I unkind? I am sorry." Bee spoke with difficulty. "I did not mean to give you pain."
"I suppose all is fair in love and war—but you are older."
"Of course I am older. What else can you expect?"
"I didn't expect that, somehow. I thought my Bee would be my Bee still. And she isn't. She is—some one else's Bee now. There's nothing of you left for me."
"Indeed there is, Amy. I never could alter to old friends. How can you suspect me of such a thing?"
"I don't suspect. I know. It's not that you are changed to me, but that you are changed in yourself. You can't help it. You are another being. Quite as dear and sweet as the old Bee, but not the same."
"I'm sorry. I'll try to be my old self. We'll go back to what we were talking about. It was—" She stopped, in perplexity.
"Yes. Go on. It was—"
"I don't quite remember."
"No, of course you don't. Well—if we are to drop the subject of that individual—how I detest the man! Suppose you tell me about your friend, Magda. Are you as absorbed in her as ever?"