o over and comfort the young stricken thing there on the bed,
but she couldn't. She could feel nothing but a dull irresistible anger
that Rose should have the easy relief of tears, which had been denied
her. Because Portia couldn't cry.

"He said," she went on, "that the first thing to do was to get her away
from here. He said that in this climate, living as she has been doing,
she'd hardly last six months. But he said that in a bland climate like
Southern California, in a bungalow without any stairs in it, if she's
carefully watched all the time to prevent excitement or over-exertion,
she might live a good many years.

"So that's what we're going to do. I've written the Fletchers to look
out a place for us--some quiet little place that won't cost too much,
and I've sold out my business. I thought I'd get that done before I
talked to you about it. I'll give the house here to the agent to sell or
rent, and as soon as we hear from the Fletchers, we'll begin to pack.
Within a week, I hope."

Rose said a queer thing then. She cried out incredulously, "And you and
mother are going away to California to live! And leave me here all
alone!"

"All alone with the whole of your own life," thought Portia, but didn't
say it.

"I can't realize it at all," Rose went on after a little silence. "It
doesn't seem--possible. Do you believe the specialist is right? They're
always making mistakes, aren't they--condemning people like that, when
the trouble isn't what they say? Can't we go to some one else and make
sure?"

"What's the use?" said Portia. "Suppose we did find a man who said it
probably wasn't so serious as that, and that she could probably live
all right here? We shouldn't know that he was right--wouldn't dare trust
to that. Besides, if I drag mother around to any more of them, she'll
know."

Rose looked up sharply. "Doesn't she know?"

"No," said Portia in that hard even voice of hers. "I lied to her of
course. I told her the doctor said her condition was very serious, and
that the only way to keep from being a hopeless invalid would be to do
what he said--go out to California--take an absolute rest for two or
three years--no lectures, no writing, no going about.

"You know mother well enough to know what she'd do if she knew the truth
about it. She'd say, 'If I can never be well, what's the use of
prolonging my life a year, or two, or five; not really living, just
crawling around half alive and soaking up somebody