"Because, on general principles, I do not think a man is so much worse than his fellows because he does things they would very likely do in his place. There are things done every day, all over the world, quite as bad as that, and no one takes much notice of them. Almost every businessman is trying to get the better of some other business man by fair means or foul." "You do not seem to have a very exalted idea of humanity," said Joe. "A large part of humanity is sick," said John, "and it is as well to be prepared for the worst in any illness." "I wish you were not so tremendously calm, you know," said Joe, looking thoughtfully into John's face. "I am afraid it will injure you." "Why in the world should it injure me?" asked John, much astonished at the remark. "I have a presentiment"--she checked herself suddenly. "I do not like to tell you," she added. "I would like to hear what you think, if you will tell me," said John, gravely. "Well, do not be angry. I have a presentiment that you will not be made senator. Are you angry?" "No indeed. But why?" "Just for that very reason; you are too calm. You are not enough of a partisan. Every one is a partisan here." John was silent, and his face was grave and thoughtful. The remark was profound in its way, and showed a far deeper insight into political matters than he imagined Joe possessed. He had long regarded Mrs. Wyndham as a woman of fine sense and judgment, and had often asked her opinion on important questions. But in all his experience she had never said anything that seemed to strike so deeply at the root of things as this simple remark of Josephine's. "I am afraid you are angry," said Joe, seeing that he was grave and silent. "You have set me thinking, Miss Thorn," he answered. "You think I may be right?" she said. "The idea is quite new to me, I think it is perhaps the best definition of the fact that I ever heard. But it is not what ought to be." "Of course not," Joe answered. "Nothing is just what it ought to be. But one has to take things as they are." "And make them what they should be," added John, and the look of strong determination came into his face. "Ah, yes," said Joe, softly. "Make things what they should be. That is the best thing a man can live for." "Perhaps we might go home, Joe," said Miss Schenectady, who had been conversing for a couple of hours with another old lady of literary tastes. "Yes, Aunt Zoë," said Joe, rousing herself, "I think we might." "Shall I see you to-morrow night at Mrs. Wyndham's dinner?" asked John, as they parted. "No, I refused. Good-night." As Joe sat by her aunt's side in the deep dark carriage on the way home, her hands were cold and she trembled from head to foot. And when at last she laid her head upon her pillow there were tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. "Is it possible that I can be so heartless?" she murmured to herself. CHAPTER XI.