He only looked at her suddenly for an instant, with a slight pinching of the lids, and his blue eyes glittered a little; then he turned away with a displeased air.
'Am I just or not ?' Margaret asked, almost sternly.
'Yes, you are just,' he said, for it was impossible not to reply.
'And do you think it is just to me to change your manner altogether, without giving me a reason?
I don't!' 'You will force me to say something I would rather not say.' 'That is what I am trying to do,' Margaret retorted.
'Since you insist on knowing the truth,' answered Lushington, yielding to what was very like necessity, 'I think you are very much changed since I saw you last.

You do not seem to me the same person.' For a moment Margaret looked at him with something like wonder, and her lips parted, though she said nothing.

Then they met again and shut very tight, while her brown eyes darkened till they looked almost black; she turned a shade paler, too, and there was something almost tragic in her face.
'I'm sorry,' Lushington said, watching her, 'but you made me tell you.' 'Yes,' she answered slowly.

'I made you tell me, and I'm glad I did.
So I have changed as much as that, have I?
In two years!' She folded her hands on the little shelf of the empty music desk, bent far forwards and looked down between the polished wooden bars at the strings below, as if she were suddenly interested in the mechanism of the piano.
Lushington turned his eyes to the darkening windows, and both sat thus in silence for some time.
'Yes,' she repeated at last, 'I'm glad I made you tell me.

It explains everything very well.' Still Lushington said nothing, and she was still examining the strings.