Eleanor

Eleanor spent the first decade of her married life either having a child or getting over the birth of a child.

Eleanor Gray—the world is small, the life of it persistent; generations repeat themselves, and each is young but once.

"Carley dear, you don't look so very well," said Eleanor, after greetings had been exchanged.

Eleanor realized her error and had common sense enough not to endeavor to explain it away.

But the girls only laughed when she insisted that Eleanor must be ill.

He had called her "Eleanor" once, to be sure; but it was only after she had forced his hand.