“I want to help him—­I want you to tell me how I can help him,” she said earnestly.  “While we are with you this winter, you must teach me how to do it.  Before we begin housekeeping in the summer, I want to learn all I possibly can about George’s affairs.  He won’t talk to me about practical matters, so you must do it.”

“But where are you going, Gabriella?  I thought you had decided to live with us?”

“But didn’t George tell you?  Surely he must have told you.  We are to take an apartment in June so my mother can come to us.  I felt, of course, that I couldn’t leave mother, and George understands.  He was perfectly lovely about it.”

“I see, I see,” murmured Mrs. Fowler, as if she were thinking of something else.  “Well, that will all come right, dear, I hope.”

Rising abruptly, she began to draw on her gloves.  “If you only knew how I long to make you happy,” she said softly; “as happy as I have been with George’s father.”

“They are so unlike,” answered Gabriella, and the next day when she remembered the admission, she wondered how it had slipped from her.

“Yes, they are unlike,” agreed Mrs. Fowler.  “George takes after me, and I am a frivolous person.  But there doesn’t live a better man than my husband,” she added, glowing.  “I’ve been his wife for thirty years, and in all that time I don’t believe he has ever thought first of himself.  Yes, it was thirty years ago that I drove through the streets with my bridal veil on, and felt so sorry for all the girls I saw who were not going to be married.  To-day I feel exactly the same way—­sorry for all the women who couldn’t have Archibald for a husband.  I’ve lived with him thirty years, I’ve borne him children, and I’m still sorry for all the other women—­even for you, Gabriella.”

“He seems so kind,” said Gabriella; “I felt that about him, and it’s the best thing, after all, isn’t it?” It was the best thing, and yet she knew that George was not kind—­that he was not even good-tempered.

“Yes, it’s the best thing, after all, in marriage,” answered the older woman; “it’s the thing that wears.”

“I have always wanted the best of life,” rejoined Gabriella thoughtfully; and she went on gravely after a moment:  “I couldn’t love George any more than I do, but I wish that in some ways he would grow like his father.”

“The boy has a very sweet nature,” replied George’s mother, “and I hope marriage will steady him.”  It was a warning, Gabriella knew, and she wondered afterwards if her silent acquiescence in Mrs. Fowler’s judgment had not been furtive disloyalty to George.

“A great deal will depend on you, dear, for he is very much in love,” resumed Mrs. Fowler when Gabriella did not speak, and she repeated very solemnly, “I hope marriage will steady him.”

In her heart Gabriella was hoping so, too, but all she said was, “I promise you that I will do all I can.”  She had given her word, and, looking into her eyes, Mrs. Fowler understood that her daughter-in-law was not one to give her word lightly.  Gabriella would keep her promise.  She would do her best, whatever happened.