I haven't known.

I only know now, you see, dear Franklin.

I've really fallen in love at last.

Can you ever forgive me ?' 'For not having fallen in love with me ?' he asked gently.
'No, dear,' she answered, forced into complete sincerity.

What was it in Franklin that compelled sincerity, and made it so easy to be sincere?
There, at least, was a quality for which one would always need him.
'No, not for that, but for having thought that I might, perhaps, fall in love with you.