“I was happy—in loving.”
“Why did you not marry?”
“Madame—it was impossible—quite.” This, with hesitation and the slightest accent of pain.
“Why impossible? You have good looks, you were born a lady; you have a foolish heart—the fond are foolish.” She watched the girl keenly, the hand ceased to toy with the lace, and caught the arm itself—“Why impossible?”
“Madame, he did not love me, he never could.”
“Did he know of your love?”
“Oh no, no!” This with trouble in her voice.
“And you have never forgotten?”
The catechism was merciless; but Mrs. Falchion was not merely malicious. She was inquiring of a thing infinitely important to her. She was searching the heart of another, not only because she was suspicious, but because she wanted to know herself better.
“It is easy to remember.”