“He has never written to me.  No, he must have got over it,” responded Gabriella, with an impassioned emphasis, “and, besides, even if he cared, I don’t want to marry again.  My children are enough for me.”

“It won’t look that way next year when both the children are away at school, and when they once break away from your apron strings they’re the sort that will go the way they want to and look out for their own happiness.  You won’t have much of Archibald while he’s at school and college, and Fanny will marry befo’ she’s twenty just as sure as you live.  Why, she’s already got her head full of beaux.  Have you noticed that picture of an actor she keeps on her bureau?”

“Yes” admitted Gabriella anxiously, “I’ve noticed it, but when I asked her about it, she only laughed.”

After this the conversation dropped, and the two women put away their work for the might; but hours later, while Miss Polly lay in her hard little bed wondering if it would be possible to “fix” things between Gabriella and Arthur, the stern heroine of her romance wept a few tender tears on her pillow.

In the morning, with the tears still ready to spring at a touch, Gabriella read a letter from her mother, which he had found, beside the baker’s rolls, at the door.

     Richmond, Thursday.

     Dear child: 

As the others are all out to-night, and I have finished the mat I was crocheting, I thought I would send you a letter to reach you on your birthday instead of the telegram from the family.  I am so thankful to hear that you keep well and happy and that Fanny has quite recovered from her cold.  It was thoughtful of you to send the check, and I shall find it very useful, though Jane refuses to let me pay any board since Charley has inherited such a large income from his brother Tom.  I sent you all the papers about the dreadful accident on the River road in which poor Tom and his wife were killed, but you haven’t heard yet that Tom left his new house in Monument Avenue—­they had only just moved into it—­and almost all of his property to Charley.  Of course, this will make a great difference in our manner of living; but just now none of us can think of anything except poor Tom and Gertrude, to whom we were all so deeply attached.  No amount of money could in any way soften the blow of their loss, and the accident has given me such a horror of automobiles, though both Charley and Jane tell me this is very foolish.

To turn to more cheerful subjects, I can’t begin to tell you how much the last photograph of Fanny has been admired.  She is such a lovely girl, almost as pretty, we think, as Jane used to be when she first grew up, and I’m sure there could be no higher praise than that.  You pleased me by saying that Archibald is like his grandfather, even if he isn’t so handsome, and that he has a strong character.  Good looks aren’t nearly so important in a man