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But with the beginning of convalescence, when Rose, with an easy visit
and a few facile caresses, could outweigh in one hour, all of Portia's
unremitting tireless service during the other twenty-three, and carry
off as a prize the whole of her mother's gratitude and affection, the
old envy and irritation had come back threefold.
Rose greeted her with a "Hello, Angel! Why didn't you come right up?
Isn't it disgraceful to be lying around in bed like this in the middle
of the morning?"
"I don't know," said Portia. "Might as well stay in bed, if you've
nothing to do when you get up." She meant it to sound good-humored, but
was afraid it didn't. "Anyhow," she added after a straight look into
Rose's face, "you look, this morning, as if bed was just where you ought
to be. What's the matter with you, child?"
"Nothing," said Rose, "--nothing that you'd call anything at any rate."
Portia smiled ironically. "I'm still the same old dragon, then," she
said. And then, with a gesture of impatience, turned away.


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