“Yes; sister of her down at Beech House Farm.”
“Never knew she had a sister,” said I.
“Yes. Oh, she had three; all married, they are.”
“Why did she never marry?” I asked, for then I knew the letter was not to her.
“Why?” He tapped the anvil with his hammer and he laughed a bass accompaniment to its ring. “Because no one ’ud ever look at her, I suppose.”
I saw it then. I saw why she had so poor opinion of men. I saw why she thanked God she had never married.
No man had ever taught her what love was. No man had ever even jilted her. No wonder she hated them. No wonder she counted her apples.