So they went through their dance together, exchanging but few words, and interested spectators looked on, and one or two remarked to each other that, upon the whole, it appeared that Mrs. Amory was rather well supported, and that there had evidently been a mistake somewhere. And then the colonel took her back to her seat, and there were new partners; and between the dances one matron after another found the way to her, and, influenced by the general revulsion of feeling, exhibited a cordiality and interest in marked contrast with the general bearing at the outset of the evening. Perhaps there were those who were rather glad to be relieved of the responsibility laid upon them. When the presidential party arrived it was observed that the President himself was very cordial when he joined the group at the end of the room, the centre figure of which was the wife of his friend and favorite cabinet officer. It was evident that he, at least, had not been affected by the gossip of the hour. His greeting of Mrs. Amory was marked in its kindness, and before he went away it was whispered about that he also had felt an interest in the matter when it had reached his ears, and was not sorry to have an opportunity of indirectly expressing his opinion. The great lady took her departure in bitterness of spirit; the dances went on, Bertha went through one after another, and between her waltzes held her small court, and was glanced at askance no more. Any slight opposition which might have remained would have been overpowered by the mere force of changed circumstances. Before the evening was at an end it had become plain that the attempt to repress and overwhelm little Mrs. Amory had been a complete failure, and had left her better defended than it had found her. "But she has lost something," Senator Blundel said to himself, as he watched her dancing. "Confound it!--_I_ can see it--she is not what she was three months ago; she is not what she was when she came into the room." Tredennis also recognized the change which had come upon her, and before long knew also that she had seen his recognition of it, and that she made no effort to conceal it from him. He felt that he could almost have better borne to see her old, careless gayety, which he had been wont to resent in secret bitterness of heart. Once, when they chanced to stand alone together for a moment, she spoke to him quickly. "Is it late?" she asked. "We seem to have been here so long! I have danced so much. Will it not soon be time to go home?" "Do you want to go home?" he asked. "Yes," she answered, almost breathlessly; "the music seems so loud it bewilders me a little. How gay it is! How the people dance! The sound and motion make me blind and dizzy. Philip!" The tone in which she uttered his name was so low and tense that he was startled by it. "What is it?" he asked.