She had married a grave politician, a rising man, whom she had pushed into a knighthood, and at one time into the ministry.

If he had died before he could make her the wife of a premier, the disappointment had not been without its alleviations.

She had never possessed much talent for domestic life, and, the yoke once removed, she had not felt the least inclination to take it upon herself again.

As a widow, her way through life was one long triumphal procession.

She had daughters--dull, tall, serious girls, with whom she had nothing in common, whom she educated well, brought out, laced in, and then married, one after another, relinquishing the last with the utmost cheerfulness, and refusing the condolences of friends on her lonely position with her usual frankness.
But her son, her only son, she had loved.