'There will be more such days,' Lushington answered.
'I hope not.'
Margaret spoke almost as if to herself and very low, turning her head away. Lushington heard the words, however, and was surprised.
'Has anything happened?' he asked quickly, and quite without reflection.
Again she answered in a low tone, unfamiliar to him.
'Yes. Something has happened.'
Then neither spoke for some time. When Margaret broke the silence at last, there was a little defiance in her voice, a touch of recklessness in her manner, as new to Lushington as her low, absent-minded tone had been when she had last spoken.
'It was only natural, I suppose,' she laughed, a little sharply. 'I'm too good for one and not good enough for the other! It would be really interesting to know just how good one ought to be—when one is an artist!'
'What do you mean?' asked Lushington, not understanding at all.
'My dear child!' She laughed again, and both the words and the laugh jarred on Lushington, as being a little unlike her—she had never addressed him in that way before. 'You don't really suppose that I am going to explain, do you? You made up your mind that I was much too fine a lady to marry the son of a singer—much too good for you, in fact—though I would have married you just then!'