To some women a bitterer thing than not to be loved is not to be allowed to love.

And when two women insist on loving the same man, the despised one is naturally skeptical as to the strength and purity and eternity of the other's feelings.

"She never loved him!" is the heart's consolation to the lucid brain reiterating "He never loved me!" I did not say that Miss Batchelor loved Tyson.
So the baby was weaned.

He did not howl under the process so much as his father expected.

He lost his cheerful red hue and grew thin; he was indifferent to things around him, so that people thought poorly of his intelligence, and the nurse shook her head and said it was a "bad sign when they took no notice." Gradually, very gradually, his features settled into an expression of disillusionment, curious in one so young.
Perhaps he bore in his blood reminiscences, forebodings of that wonderful and terrible world he had been in such a hurry to enter.