Justine was silent for a moment, and then she said: "Yes, once." She was looking at the hills now, and Mrs. Falchion at her.
"And you were happy?" Here Mrs. Falchion abstractedly toyed with a piece of lace on Justine's arm. Such acts were unusual with her.
"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?"