Very soberly, but in as absolute repose of face, Faith now and then looked at him, and meanwhile waited for his thoughts to come to an end.
"Dr. Harrison said," she remarked after a little while, "that you once told him he had but half learned his profession."
"What did you say, Miss Faith? I mean, not to that, but to the question?"
"I didn't know what to say!—I didn't want to go at all—I don't know whether that was wrong or right; but at last I said I would go. Do you think I was right, Mr. Linden?"
"Did you promise to go with him?"
"I didn't know any other way to go," said Faith. "I don't know where the woman lives, and he said I couldn't find it; and old Crab has a lame foot. Dr. Harrison asked me to go with him. I don't think I should have minded going alone."
"Neither should I mind having you," said Mr. Linden, with a look more doubtful and anxious than Faith had often seen him wear, though it was not bent upon her.
"Do you think I said wrong then, Mr. Linden? I did not like to go—but
I thought perhaps I ought."
"I don't think you did wrong," was the somewhat definite answer. "I wish I had been alongside of you when the request was made."
A wish which he had not been the first to know. Faith was silent.