I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. “In two days,” she reflected, “Mrs. Habits and tastes are no longer the same. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. I do not say guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend of this Wastrel. Joan told me it was hung somewhere in the house, only I couldn’t remember where after all this time.
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