And whereas she would naturally have considered a marriage between the penniless Donnington and brilliant, clever, popular Bubbles as being out of the question, she was beginning to feel that such a marriage might be, nay, almost certainly was, the only thing likely to ensure for Bubbles a reasonably happy and normal life.

Blanche Farrow knew enough of human nature to realize that the kind of love Bill Donnington felt for her strange little niece was of a high and rare quality.

It was very unlike the usual selfish, acquisitive love of a man for a maid.

It was more like the tender, watching, tireless devotion certain mothers have for their children--it was infinitely protecting, infinitely forgiving, infinitely understanding.
Blanche sighed, a long, deep sigh, as she told herself sadly that no one had ever loved _her_ like that--not even her old friend Mark Gifford.

He had loved her long; in fact he rarely saw her, even now, without asking her to marry him.