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Rose sat up with a jerk. "About mother!" she echoed. "Has she been ill
again this week? And you haven't let me know! It's a shame I haven't
been around, but I've been busy"--her smile reflected some of the irony
of Portia's--"and rather miserable. Of course I was going this
afternoon."
"Yes," said Portia, "I fancied you'd come this afternoon. That's why I
wanted to see you alone first."
"Alone!" Rose leaned sharply forward. "Oh, don't stand there where I
can't see you! Tell me what it is."
"I'm going to," said Portia. "You see, I wasn't satisfied with old
Murray. That soothing bedside manner of his, and his way of encouraging
you as if you were a child going to have a tooth pulled, drove me nearly
wild. I thought it was possible, either that he didn't understand
mother's case, or else that he wouldn't tell me what he suspected. So
a week ago to-day, I got her to go with me to a specialist. He made a
very thorough examination, and the next day I went around to see him."
Her voice got a little harder and cooler.


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