The flush in her mother's cheeks deepened a little, but it was no longer
apologetic.

"I don't think you're quite fair to Rose, about her studies," she said.
"The child may not be making a brilliant record, but really, considering
the number of her occupations, it seems to me she does very well. And if
she doesn't seem always to appreciate her privilege in getting a college
education, as seriously as she should, you should remember her youth."

"She's twenty," said Portia bluntly. "You graduated at that age, and you
took it seriously enough."

"It's very different," her mother insisted. "And I'm sure you understand
the difference quite well. Higher education was still an experiment for
women then--one of the things they were fighting for. And those of us by
whom the success of the experiment was to be judged ..."

"I'm sorry, mother," Portia interrupted contritely. "I'm tired and ugly
to-day, and I didn't mean any harm, anyway. Of course Rose is all right,
just as I said. And she'll probably get her note-books back Monday."
Then, "Didn't she say the man's name was Rodney Aldrich?"

"I think so," her mother agreed. "Something like that."

"It's rather funny," said Portia. "It's hardly likely to have been the
real Rodney Aldrich. Yet, it's not a common name."

"The _real_ Rodney Aldrich?" questioned her mother. But, without waiting
for her daughter's elucidation of the phrase, she added, "Oh, there's