His wife had deserted him, leaving him with one child only, a daughter.

Upon the death of this poor woman many years afterwards, he had married a widow whose third husband he was, yet who was still young, scarcely so old as his daughter.
Concerning this lady and her children the poor old mother-in-law continually cogitated, having a common little photographic likeness of her in which she tried to find the wifely love and contentment and all the other endearing qualities she had heard of.

For at rare intervals one or other of her sons would write to her, and then she always perceived that the second Mrs.Daniel Mortimer made her husband happy.
She would be told from time to time that he was much attached to young Brandon, the son of her first marriage, and that from her three daughters by her second marriage he constantly received the love and deference due to a father.
But this cherished wife had now died also, and had left Daniel Mortimer with one son, a fine youth already past childhood.
Old Madam Melcombe's heart went into mourning for her daughter-in-law whom she had never seen.

None but the husband, whose idol she was, lamented her longer and more.

Only fifty miles off, but so remote in her seclusion, so shut away, so forgotten; perhaps Mrs.Daniel Mortimer did not think once in a season of her husband's mother; but every day the old woman had thought of her as a consoler and a delight, and when her favourite son retired she soon took out the photograph again and looked sadly at those features that he had held so dear.
But she did not speak much of either son, only repeating from time to time, "He's a fine man; they're fine men, both of them.