Dan was soon lost from the side of Miss Anderson, who more and more seemed to him important socially. She seemed, in her present leadership; to know more of life, than he; to be maturer. But she did not abuse her superiority; she kept an effect of her last summer's friendliness for him throughout. Several times, finding herself near him; she introduced him to people. Guests kept arriving till midnight. Among the latest, when Dan had lost himself far from Boston in talk with a young lady from Richmond, who spoke with a slur of her vowels that fascinated him, came Mr. and Mrs. Brinkley. He felt himself grow pale and inattentive to his pretty Virginian. That accent of Mrs. Brinkley's recalled him to his history. He hoped that she would not see him; but in another moment he was greeting her with a warmth which Bostonians seldom show in meeting at Boston. “When did you come to Washington?” she asked, trying to keep her consciousness out of her eyes, which she let dwell kindly upon him. “Day before yesterday--no, yesterday. It seems a month, I've seen and done so much,” he said, with his laugh. “Miss Anderson's been showing me the whole of Washington society. Have you been here long?” “Since morning,” said Mrs. Brinkley. And she added, “Miss Anderson?” “Yes--Campobello, don't you know?” “Oh yes. Is she here to-night?” “I came with her and her aunt.” “Oh yes.” “How is all Boston?” asked Dan boldly. “I don't know; I'm just going down to Old Point Comfort to ask. Every other house on the Back Bay has been abandoned for the Hygeia.” Mrs. Brinkley stopped, and then she asked. “Are you just up from there?” “No; but I don't know but I shall go.” “Hello, Mavering!” said Mr. Brinkley, coming up and taking his hand into his fat grasp. “On your way to Fortress Monroe? Better come with us. Why; Munt!” He turned to greet this other Bostonian, who had hardly expressed his joy at meeting with his fellow-townsmen when the hostess rustled softly up, and said, with the irony more or less friendly, which everybody uses in speaking of Boston, or recognising the intellectual pre-eminence of its people, “I'm not going to let you keep this feast of reason all to your selves. I want you to leaven the whole lump,” and she began to disperse them, and to introduce them about right and left. Dan tried to find his Virginian again, but she was gone. He found Miss Anderson; she was with her aunt. “Shall we be tearing you away?” she asked. “Oh no. I'm quite ready to go.” His nerves were in a tremble. Those Boston faces and voices had brought it all back again; it seemed as if he had met Alice. He was silent and incoherent as they drove home, but Miss Anderson apparently did not want to talk much, and apparently did not notice his reticence. He fell asleep with the pang in his heart which had been there so often.