Then, as she finished the milk and handed back the empty cup to her daughter, she added wearily, for life, as she often said to herself of late, was becoming almost too much for her, and she was feeling worn out and old: "My one comfort, Gabriella, is the thought that Arthur Peyton loves you.
There couldn't be anybody more unlike Charley." "There couldn't be," agreed Gabriella mildly, for she felt that another blow would prostrate her mother..