The red of her parasol threw a warm soft ness upon
her face. She spoke now without looking at Justine.
"Justine, did you ever love any one besides your brother?--I mean another
man."
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?"
The catechism was merciless; but Mrs. Falchion was not merely malicious.
She was inquiring of a thing infinitely important to her.
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