“I think I was at first,” said John, simply. “But one soon grows used to it. Man is a vain animal, and I suppose no one could lose a fight as I have without being disappointed.”
“If you were not disappointed it would be a sign you did not really care,” answered Joe. “And of course you must care–a great, great deal. It is a loss to your cause, as well as a loss to yourself. But you cannot possibly give it up; you will win next time.”
“Yes,” said John, “I hope I shall win some day.” But his voice sounded uncertain; it lacked that determined ring that Joe loved so well. She felt as she sat beside him that he was deeply hurt and needed fresh encouragement and strength to restore him to his old self. She longed to help him and to rouse him once more to the consciousness of power and the hope of victory.
“It is my experience,” said she with an air of superiority that would have been amusing if she had spoken less earnestly–“it is my experience that one should never think of anything in which one has come to grief. I know, when one is going at a big thing–a double post and rails with a ditch, or anything like that, you know–it would never do to remember that you have come off at the same thing or at something else before. When a man is always remembering his last tumble he has lost his nerve, and had better give up hunting altogether. Thinking that you may get an ugly fall will not help you over anything.”
“No,” said John, “that is very true.”
“You must forget all about it and begin again. You have missed one bird, but you are a good shot, and you will not miss the next.”
“You are a most encouraging person, Miss Thorn,” said John with a faint smile. “But you know the only test of a good shot is that one hits the mark. I have missed at the first trial, and that is no reason why I should not miss at the second, too.”
“You are disappointed and unhappy now,” said Joe, gently. “It is very natural indeed. Anybody would feel like that. But you must not believe in yourself any less than your friends believe in you.”
“I fancy my friends do not all think alike,” answered John. “But I am grateful to you for what you say.”
He was indeed grateful, and the soothing sound of her gentle voice was the best refreshment for his troubled spirit. He thought for a moment how brave a man could be with such a woman by his side; and the thought pleased him, the more because he knew that it could not be realized. They sat in silence for a while, contented to be together, and in sympathy. But before long the anxiety for the future and the sense of his peculiar position came over John again.