“Why, I thought you loved her!”

“What have I said that leads you to change your mind?” said he.

“A man does not take the high hand with the woman he adores.”

“So?” said Norman tranquilly.

“Well,” said his puzzled sister by way of conclusion, “if you persist in being the autocrat——­”

“Autocrat?—­I?” laughed he.  “Am I trying to compel her to do anything she doesn’t wish to do?  Didn’t I say she would be free to go if she were dissatisfied with me and my plan—­if she didn’t adopt it gladly as her own plan, also?”

“But you know very well she’s dependent upon you, Fred.”

“Is that my fault?  Does a man force a woman to become dependent?  And just because she is dependent, should he therefore yield to her and let her make of his life a waste and a folly?”

“You’re far too clever for me to argue with.  Anyhow, as I was saying, if you persist in what I call tyranny——­”

“When a woman cries tyranny, it means she’s furious because she is not getting her autocratic way.”

“Maybe so,” admitted Ursula cheerfully.  “At any rate, if you persist—­unless she loves you utterly, your life will be miserable.”

“She may make her own life miserable, but not mine,” replied he.  “If I were the ordinary man—­counting himself lucky to have induced any woman to marry him—­afraid if he lost his woman he’d not be able to get another—­able to give his woman only an indifferent poor support, and so on—­if I were one of those men, what you say might be true.  But what deep and permanent mischief can a frail woman do a strong man?”

“There’s instance after instance in history——­”

“Of strong men wrecking themselves through various kinds of madness, including sex madness.  But, my dear Ursula, not an instance—­not one—­where the woman was responsible.  If history were truth, instead of lies—­you women might have less conceit.”

“You—­talking this way!” mocked Ursula.

“Meaning, I suppose, my late infatuation?” inquired he, unruffled.

“I never saw or read of a worse case.”

“Am I ruined?”

“No.  But why not?  Because you got her.  If you hadn’t—­” Ursula blew out a large cloud of cigarette smoke with a “Pouf!”

“If I hadn’t got her,” said Norman, “I’d have got well, just the same, in due time.  A sick weak man goes down; a sick strong man gets well.  When a man who’s reputed to be strong doesn’t get well, it’s because he merely seemed strong but wasn’t.  The poets and novelists and the historians and the rest of the nature fakers fail to tell all the facts, dear sister.  All the facts would spoil a pretty story.”

Ursula thought a few minutes, suddenly burst out with, “Do you think
Dorothy loves you now?”

Norman rose to go out doors.  “I don’t think about such unprofitable things,” said he.  “As long as we suit each other and get along pleasantly—­why bother about a name for it?”