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She hadn't
meant to begin like that. Why couldn't she keep her tongue in control!
"I only meant," said Rose very simply, "that you'd say it was nothing,
if it was the matter with you. I've seen you, so many times, get up
looking perfectly sick and, without any breakfast but a cup of black
coffee, put on your old mackintosh and rubbers and start off for the
shop, saying you were all right and not to bother, that I knew that was
what you'd say now, if you felt the way I do."
"I'm sorry," said Portia. "I might have known that was what you meant. I
wonder if you ever want to say ugly things and don't, or if it's just
that it never occurs to you to try to hurt anybody. I didn't mean to say
that either. I've had a rather worrying sort of week."
"What is it?" said Rose. "Tell me about it. Can I help?"
"No," said Portia. "I've thought it over and it isn't your job." She got
up and went to the window where Rose couldn't see her face, and stood
looking out. "It's about mother," she concluded.


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