The order was a great relief. It solved all his uncertainty and scattered all his doubts to the wind. It gave him new courage and stimulated his curiosity. Z had only sent for him twice before, and then only to call him from Boston or New York to Washington. It was clear that something of very great importance was likely to occur. His energy returned in full, with the anticipation of work to do and of a journey to be made, and before night he was fully prepared to leave on receipt of his orders. His box was packed, and he had drawn the money necessary to take him to London.
As for Joe, he could go and see her now if he pleased. In twenty-four hours he might be gone, never to see her again. But it was too late on that day–he would go on the following morning.
It was still the height of the Boston season, which is short, but merry while it lasts. John had a dinner-party, a musical evening, and a ball on his list for the evening, and he resolved that he would go to all three, and show himself bravely to the world. He was full of new courage and strength since he had received Z’s message, and he was determined that no one should know what he had suffered.
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.”