I have been worried to death about him for weeks.

He says things are going so badly downtown that he can't stave off the crash any longer, and now--this--this--" She broke down utterly, burying her convulsed face in her hands, which even in the instant of horror and tragedy, Gabriella noticed, had been manicured since the morning.

"George has gone--we think he has gone off with Florrie," she cried, "and he--he will never come back as long as Archibald lives." She was not thinking of Gabriella.

True to the deepest instincts of her nature, she thought first of her son, then of her husband.

It was not that she did not care for her daughter-in-law, did not sympathize; but the fact remained that Gabriella was only George's wife to her, while George was flesh of her flesh, bone of her bone, soul of her soul.
Though her choice was not deliberate, though it was unconscious and instinctive--nevertheless, she had chosen.