pity that she couldn't have a chance here--but
how could she! I had thought she might marry
a gentleman, but I dare say she'll do as well as
the rest of her friends--as well as Mary B., for
instance, who married--Homer Pettifoot, did you
say? Or maybe Billy Oxendine might do for her.
As long as she has never known any better, she'll
probably be as well satisfied as though she married
a rich man, and lived in a fine house, and kept a
carriage and servants, and moved with the best in
the land."

The tortured mother could endure no more.
The one thing she desired above all others was her
daughter's happiness. Her own life had not been
governed by the highest standards, but about her
love for her beautiful daughter there was no taint
of selfishness. The life her son had described had
been to her always the ideal but unattainable life.
Circumstances, some beyond her control, and others
for which she was herself in a measure responsible,
had put it forever and inconceivably beyond her
reach. It had been conquered by her son. It
beckoned to her daughter. The comparison of this
free and noble life with the sordid existence of
those around her broke down the last barrier of
opposition.

"O Lord!" she moaned, "what shall I do with
out her? It'll be lonely, John--so lonely!"