Mr. Cressler permitted himself an amiable grunt of protest.
"Pshaw! Laura's all right. The handsomest girl in Cook County."
"Well, that's not much to do with it, Charlie," sighed Mrs. Cressler. "Oh, dear," she added vaguely. "I don't know."
"Don't know what?"
"I hope Laura's life will be happy."
"Oh, for God's sake, Carrie!"
"There's something about that girl," continued Mrs. Cressler, "that makes my heart bleed for her."
Cressler frowned, puzzled and astonished.
"Hey—what!" he exclaimed. "You're crazy, Carrie!"
"Just the same," persisted Mrs. Cressler, "I just yearn towards her sometimes like a mother. Some people are born to trouble, Charlie; born to trouble, as the sparks fly upward. And you mark my words, Charlie Cressler, Laura is that sort. There's all the pathos in the world in just the way she looks at you from under all that black, black hair, and out of her eyes the saddest eyes sometimes, great, sad, mournful eyes."