The question, as she knew it must, had roused a deep and painful train of thought.
"No," said Beatrice, in an altered voice.

"I am not married.

I shall never marry." A short silence followed, during which she turned her face away.
"I have pained you," said Unorna with profound sympathy and regret.
"Forgive me! How could I be so tactless!" "How could you know ?" Beatrice asked simply, not attempting to deny the suggestion.
But Unorna was suffering too.

She had allowed herself to imagine that in the long years which had passed Beatrice might perhaps have forgotten.
It had even crossed her mind that she might indeed be married.

But in the few words, and in the tremor that accompanied them, as well as in the increased pallor of Beatrice's face, she detected a love not less deep and constant and unforgotten than the Wanderer's own.
"Forgive me," Unorna repeated.