"I confess to you that I built too much on the outcome. I am ambitious; I want to be somebody, to take part in the great affairs of the world. I fought the very best I knew how. I had many dreams. Do you recollect the verses I used to write to you when we were children? There was always something of the poet in me, and it is still there, only it no longer develops on paper. I had looked toward Washington ... even toward you, Betty."
Silence. The girl sat very still. Her face was white and her eyes large.
"I am honest. I can see now that I have no business in politics...." He laughed suddenly and turned toward the girl. "I was on the verge of wailing. I'm licked, and I must begin all over again. Dick will make a good mayor, that is, if they leave him alone.... Whimsical, wasn't it, of me, coming here to have you tell me the news?" He looked away.
The girl smiled and held out her hand to him, and as he did not see it, laid it gently on his sleeve.
"It does not matter, John. Some day you will realize all your ambitions. You are not the kind of man who gives up. Defeat is a necessary step to greatness; and you will become great. I am glad that you came to me." She knew now; all her doubts were gone, all the confusing shadows.
Newcomb turned and touched her hand with his lips.
"Why did you come to me?" she asked with fine courage.
His eyes widened. "Why did I come to you? If I had won I should have told you. But I haven't won; I have lost."
"Does that make the difference so great?"
"It makes the difficulty greater."