Once seated there, she unfolded the dress, took the needle from the unfinished buttonhole, and tried again unsuccessfully to run the thread through the eye.

Then, while Gabriella rushed to her aid, she removed her glasses and patiently polished them on a bit of chamois skin she kept in her basket.
"Don't you feel as if you could eat a chop to-night, mother ?" "I haven't been able to swallow a morsel all day, Gabriella." "I've saved you a little cream.

Shall I make you a toddy ?" "I don't want it.

Drink it yourself, dear." After this there followed one of those pauses which fill not only the room, but the universe with a fury of sound.

There were times when Gabriella felt that she could stand anything if only her mother would fly into a rage--when she positively envied Florrie Spencer because her plebeian parent scolded her at the top of her voice instead of maintaining a calm and ladylike reticence.