Don't try to make her think she's really stopped loving him." Gabriella's answer to this outburst was a look which, as poor Mrs.
Fowler said afterwards, "cut her to the heart." Backing weakly to a chair, the valiant little lady sat down suddenly, because she felt that her legs were giving way beneath the weight of her body.

And, though she was unaware of its significance, her action was deeply symbolical of the failure of the old order to withstand the devastating advance of the new spirit.

She felt vaguely that she wished women and things were both what they used to be; but this, since she had little imagination, was as far as she penetrated into the psychology of Gabriella's behaviour.
"But, you see, you're making the mistake of thinking that I love George," said Gabriella, with a reasonableness which made Mrs.Fowler feel that she wanted to scream, "and I don't love him--I don't love him at all.

I haven't loved him for a long time--not since the night I saw him drunk.

How could I love a man I've seen drunk--disgustingly drunk--a man I couldn't respect?
I'm not made that way, and I can't help it.