The dinner passed pleasantly enough, and by ten o'clock he was at the musical party. There he found the Wyndhams and many other friends, but he looked in vain for Joe; she was not there. Before midnight he was at the dance, pushing his way through crowds of acquaintances, stumbling over loving couples ensconced on the landings of the stairs, and running against forlorn old ladies, whose mouths were full of ice-cream and their hearts of bitterness against the younger generation; and so, at last, he reached the ball-room, where everything that was youngest and most fresh was assembled, swaying and gliding, and backing and turning in the easy, graceful half-walk, half-slide of the Boston step. As John stood looking on, Joe passed him, leaving the room on Mr. Topeka's arm. There was a little open space before her in the crowd, and Pocock Vancouver darted out with the evident intention of speaking to her. But as she caught sight of him she turned suddenly away, pulling Mr. Topeka round by his arm. It was an extremely "marked thing to do." As she turned she unexpectedly came face to face with John, who had watched the maneuver. The color came quickly to her face, and she was slightly embarrassed; nevertheless she held out her hand and greeted John cordially. CHAPTER XVIII. "I am so glad to have found you," said John to Josephine, when the latter had disposed of Mr. Topeka. They had chosen a quiet corner in a dimly-lighted room away from the dancers. "But I suppose it is useless to ask you for a dance?" "No," said Joe, looking at her card; "I always leave two dances free in the middle of the evening in case I am tired. We will sit them out." "Thank you," said John, looking at her. She looked pale and a little tired, but wonderfully lovely. "Thank you," he repeated, "and thank you also for your most kind note." "I wish I could tell you better how very sorry I am," said Joe, impulsively. "It is bad enough to look on and see such things done, but I should think you must be nearly distracted." "I think I was at first," said John, simply. "But one soon grows used to it. Man is a vain animal, and I suppose no one could lose a fight as I have without being disappointed." "If you were not disappointed it would be a sign you did not really care," answered Joe. "And of course you must care--a great, great deal. It is a loss to your cause, as well as a loss to yourself. But you cannot possibly give it up; you will win next time." "Yes," said John, "I hope I shall win some day." But his voice sounded uncertain; it lacked that determined ring that Joe loved so well. She felt as she sat beside him that he was deeply hurt and needed fresh encouragement and strength to restore him to his old self. She longed to help him and to rouse him once more to the consciousness of power and the hope of victory.