She showed her gratitude in her eyes, in a slight quiver of the lips, in an unsteadiness of tone as she said, “You’re the real thing, Freddie.”

“You can go right on as you are now.  Only—­” He was looking at her with meaning directness.

She moved uneasily, refused to meet his gaze.  “Well?” she said, with a suggestion of defiance.

“It’s all very natural to get tired of Clayton,” said her brother.  “I knew you would when you married him.  But—­Sis, I mind my own business.  Still—­Why make a fool of yourself?”

“You don’t understand,” she exclaimed passionately.  And the light in her eyes, the color in her cheeks, restored to her for the moment the beauty of her youth that was almost gone.

“Understand what?” inquired he in a tone of gentle mockery.

“Love.  You are all ambition—­all self control.  You can be affectionate—­God knows, you have been to me, Fred. But love you know nothing about—­nothing.”

His was the smile a man gives when in earnest and wishing to be thought jesting—­or when in jest and wishing to be thought in earnest.

“You mean Josephine?  Oh, yes, I suppose you do care for her in a way—­in a nice, conventional way.  She is a fine handsome piece—­just the sort to fill the position of wife to a man like you.  She’s sweet and charming, she appreciates, she flatters you.  I’m sure she loves you as much as a girl knows how to love.  But it’s all so conventional, so proper.  Your position—­her money.  You two are of the regulation type even in that you’re suited to each other in height and figure.  Everybody’ll say, ‘What a fine couple—­so well matched!’”

“Maybe you don’t understand,” said Norman.

“If Josephine were poor and low-born—­weren’t one of us—­and all that—­would you have her?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” was his prompt and amused answer.  “I can only say that I know what I want, she being what she is.”

Ursula shook her head.  “I have only to see you and her together to know that you at least don’t understand love.”

“It might be well if you didn’t,” said Norman dryly.  “You might be less unhappy—­and Clayton less uneasy.”

“Ah, but I can’t help myself.  Don’t you see it in me, Fred?  I’m not a fool.  Yet see what a fool I act.”

“Spoiled child—­that’s all.  No self-control.”

“You despise everyone who isn’t as strong as you.”  She looked at him intently.  “I wonder if you are as self-controlled as you imagine.  Sometimes I wish you’d get a lesson.  Then you’d be more sympathetic.  But it isn’t likely you will—­not through a woman.  Oh, they’re such pitifully easy game for a man like you.  But then men are the same way with you—­quite as easy.  You get anything you want. . . .  You’re really going to stick to Josephine?”

He nodded.  “It’s time for me to settle down.”

“Yes—­I think it is,” she went on thoughtfully.  “I can hardly believe you’re to marry.  Of course, she’s the grand prize.  Still—­I never imagined you’d come in and surrender.  I guess you do care for her.”