“Oh, Jamaica Pond, by far,” Sybil answered, and her hold on Joe’s arm relaxed a very little.
“Oh no! I would a thousand times rather be in the Music Hall!” exclaimed Joe, and her hand slipped away from Sybil’s white fur. And so the four were separated into couples, and went their ways swiftly under the glorious moonlight. As they parted Sybil turned her head and looked after Joe, but Joe did not see her.
“I would rather be here,” said John quietly.
“Why?” asked Joe.
“There is enough fighting in life to make peace a very desirable thing sometimes,” John answered.
“A man cannot be always swinging his battle-axe.” There was a very slight shade of despondency in the tone of his voice. Joe noticed it at once.
Women do not all worship success, however much they may wish their champion to win when they are watching him fight. In the brilliant, unfailing, all-conquering man, the woman who loves him feels pride; if she be vain and ambitious, she feels wholly satisfied, for the time. But woman’s best part is her gentle sympathy, and where there is no room at all for that, there is very often little room for love. In the changing hopes and fears of uncertain struggles, a woman’s love well given and truly kept may turn the scale for a man, and it is at such times, perhaps, that her heart is given best, and most loyally held by him who has it.
“I wish I could do anything to help him to succeed,” thought Joe, in the innocent generosity of her half-conscious devotion.
“Has anything gone wrong?” she asked aloud.