Was it truly needful that he should examine the knee so often? If not, kind though his attentions might be, Euphrasia could not feel that she would be right to let things continue thus. She debated much with herself, and several times resolved to put out a most delicate feeler of one kind or another, to discover whether, perhaps, twice a week might not be sufficient. But Euphrasia was not gifted in the art of putting out delicate feelers, and when it came to the point, she always failed to say anything at all. He was so pleasant, and it would be so "horrid" to hurt his feelings. So she decided finally that the utmost she could do was to hasten her departure. Now that her month was almost ended, matters might be pressed to a point. It had been a long month, very long—except the last few days. She would be glad to get away—yes, certainly, very glad indeed to feel herself no longer an unwelcome burden on her friend's hospitality. Yes, certainly, very glad, repeated Euphrasia with emphasis, just because she was aware of an opposite sensation below. One strong regret was asserting itself, and would not be put down; one real pain, in the thought of parting from Mr. Wells. He had not been only the doctor to her: he had been a friend in a season of trouble. Looking back upon the past month, she saw his figure more prominently than any other. The prominence of any figure in one's surroundings depends, after all, mainly upon one's own interest in that figure. Would she ever see him again? Would she never see him again? The question was unwelcome, and it haunted her. Never again, through all her life! A second visit to the Johnston lay beyond all bounds of probability. She had no other friends in Clifton. West Norton was an unlikely place for anybody to visit; and in their little home, they seldom entertained friends from a distance. Why should he and she ever meet again? He had done his duty as doctor, perhaps a good deal more than his bare duty because he was kind-hearted, and because she had been lonely and uncomfortable. And she was merely his patient, a "case" to be dismissed when done with, and thought about no more. Still, she had to leave, and her duty was to go so soon as she might. The odd part of the matter was that, after all her earlier impatience, now the time for departure was near, she did not want to go. She had told herself that she would be glad, but in her heart she knew she would not be glad. Notwithstanding all the unpleasantness of giving trouble to comparative strangers, notwithstanding Letitia's coldness, and Mrs. Johnston's hardly-veiled impatience, she would have given much to feel herself compelled to stay another month. Euphrasia's very consciousness of this reluctance made her the more determined to bring about a decision. "I think I ought to write home now, and tell them about my knee," she said abruptly, after much previous consideration. "And fix the day for going."