"Oh, you not brave! you not strong! You're the lovingest, truest"--

"Only inclined to be a bit too hungry after sympathy, dear."

"You never bid for it, love, never."

"Well, no matter; I shall never love any one but myself too much. I
think I shall some day love Arthur as I wish I could love him now. I
never did really love Leonard,--I couldn't; I haven't the stature. That
was my trouble, dearie: I hadn't the stature. I never shall have; and if
it's he you are thinking of, you are wasting your dear, sweet care. But
he's going to be our best and nearest friend, mother,--he and Ruth and
Godfrey, together and alike. We've so agreed, Arthur and I. Oh, I'm not
going to come in here and turn the sweet old nickname of this happy spot
into a sneer."

"Then why are you not happy, precious?"

"Happy? Why, my dear, I am happy!"

"With touches of heartache?"

"Oh, with big wrenches of heartache! Why not? Were you never so?"

"I'm so right now, dearie. For after all is said"--

"And thought that can't be said"--murmured Isabel.

"Yes," replied the mother, "after all is said and thought, I should