"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."

"Why should you want to help yourself?" said the doctor. "And
to Mrs. Thorn's to-morrow night?"

"No, Sir; I believe not."