And you've been mighty successful, honey.

You've succeeded in everything you undertook except marriage." "Yes, except my marriage." "Well, I reckon things happen and you can't do 'em over again," observed the little seamstress, with the natural fatalism of the "poor white" of the South.
As she undressed and got into bed, Gabriella told herself cheerfully that there was, indeed, no need to worry over things that you couldn't change after they happened.

From the open window a shaft of light fell on her mirror, and while she watched it, she tried to convince her rebellious imagination that she was perfectly satisfied, that life had given her all that she had ever desired.

"I have more than most women anyhow," she insisted, weakening a little.

"I've accomplished what I undertook, and by the time I'm fifty, if things go well, I may become a rich woman.