"I think," she said, "that I never felt so sure of myself as I did last winter,--so sure that I had lived past things and was quite safe. It was a very gay season, and there were several people here who amused me and made things seem brilliant and enjoyable. When I was not going out the parlors were always crowded with clever men and women; and when I did go out I danced and talked and interested myself more than I had ever seemed to do before. I shall never forget the inauguration ball. Laurence and Richard were both with me, and I danced every dance, and had the most brilliant night. I don't think one expects to be actually brilliant at an inauguration ball, but that night I think we were, and when we were going away we turned to look back, and Laurence said, 'What a night it has been! We couldn't possibly have had such a night if we had tried. I wonder if we shall ever have such a night again'; and I said, 'Scores of them, I haven't a doubt'; but that was the last night of all." "The last night of all?" repeated Agnes. "There have been no more nights at all like it, and no more days. The next night but one the Winter Gardners gave a party, and I was there. Laurence brought me some roses and heliotrope, and I carried them; and I remember how the scent of the heliotrope reminded me of the night I sat and talked to Philip Tredennis by the fire. It came back all the more strongly because I had heard from papa of his return. I was not glad that he had come to Washington, and I did not care to see him. He seemed to belong to a time I wanted to forget. I did not know he was to be at the Gardners' until he came in, and I looked up and saw him at the door. You know how he looks when he comes into a room,--so tall, and strong, and different from all the rest. Does he look different from all the rest, Agnes--or is it only that I think so?" "He is different," said Agnes. "Even I could see that." "Oh!" said Bertha, despairingly, "I don't know what it is that makes it so; but sometimes I have thought that, perhaps, when first men were on earth they were like that,--strong and earnest, and simple and brave,--never trifling with themselves or others, and always ready to be tender with those who suffer or are weak. If you only knew the stories we have heard of his courage and determination and endurance! I do not think he ever remembers them himself; but how can the rest of us forget! "The first thought I had when I saw him was that it was odd that the mere sight of him should startle me so. And then I watched him pass through the crowds, and tried to make a paltry satirical comment to myself upon his size and his grave face. And then, against my will, I began to wonder what he would do when he saw me, and if he would see what had happened to me since he had given me the flowers for my first party; and I wished he had stayed away--and I began to feel tired--and just then he turned and saw me."