"You were. You were."
"There wasn't a gleam, a spark——"
"Not one."
They laughed. The reminiscence of her "badness" seemed to inspire them both with a secret exultation. They drew together, uncovering, displaying to each other the cherished charm of it. Neither could say why the thought of it was so pleasing.
"And look at you now," said Caldecott.
"Yes," she cried, "look at me now. What was it, do you think, that made the difference?"
That he had never really known.
"Oh, well, I suppose you're stronger, you know; and things are different."
"Things?" she repeated. Her lips parted and closed, as if she had been about to say something, and recalled it with a sharp indrawing of her breath.
"And so," she said presently, "you think that was it?"