coloring against which this would be quite dull, moons that whirled and
swayed, paler than winter moons, more golden than harvest moons--"

"Are you quite well now, Beatrice?"

"Quite well--as well as I will ever be. I am not understood, Amory.
I know that can't express it to you, Amory, but--I am not understood."

Amory was quite moved. He put his arm around his mother, rubbing his
head gently against her shoulder.

"Poor Beatrice--poor Beatrice."

"Tell me about _you_, Amory. Did you have two _horrible_ years?"

Amory considered lying, and then decided against it.

"No, Beatrice. I enjoyed them. I adapted myself to the bourgeoisie.
I became conventional." He surprised himself by saying that, and he
pictured how Froggy would have gaped.

"Beatrice," he said suddenly, "I want to go away to school. Everybody in
Minneapolis is going to go away to school."

Beatrice showed some alarm.

"But you're only fifteen."

"Yes, but everybody goes away to school at fifteen, and I _want_ to,
Beatrice."