"I have been ready some time, Sir," said Fleda.
"Well," said he, "then we'll go straight home, for I've not done my work yet."
"Dear uncle Orrin," said Fleda, "if I had known you had work to do, I wouldn't have come."
"Yes, you would," said he, decidedly.
She clasped her uncle's arm, and walked with him briskly home through the frosty air, looking at the silent lights and shadows on the walls of the street, and feeling a great desire to cry.
"Did you have a pleasant evening?" said the doctor, when they were about half way.
"Not particularly, Sir," said Fleda, hesitating.
He said not another word till they got home, and Fleda went up to her room. But the habit of patience overcame the wish to cry; and though the outside of her little gold-clasped bible awoke it again, a few words of the inside were enough to lay it quietly to sleep.
"Well," said the doctor, as they sat at breakfast the next morning, "where are you going next?"
"To the concert, I must, to-night," said Fleda. "I couldn't help myself."