HE went straight home and sought his sister. She had that moment come in from tea after a matinee.
She talked about the play--how badly it was acted--and about the women she had seen at tea--how badly dressed they were. "It's hard to say which is the more dreadful--the ugly, misshapen human race without clothes or in the clothes it insists on wearing. And the talk at that tea! Does no one ever say a pleasant thing about anyone? Doesn't anyone ever do a pleasant thing that can be spoken about? I read this morning Tolstoy's advice about resolving to think all day only nice thoughts and sticking to it. That sounded good to me, and I decided to try it." Ursula laughed and squirmed about in her tight-fitting dress that made an enchanting display of her figure. "What is one to do?
_I_ can't be a fraud, for one. And if I had stuck to my resolution I'd have spent the day in lying. What's the matter, Fred?" Now that her attention was attracted she observed more closely. "What HAVE you been doing? You look--frightful!"
"I've broken with her," replied he.
"With Jo?" she cried. "Why, Fred, you can't --you can't--with the wedding only five days away!"
"Not with Jo."
Ursula breathed noisy relief. She said cheerfully:
"Oh--with the other. Well, I'm glad it's over."
"Over?" said he sardonically. "Over? It's only begun."
"But you'll stick it out, Fred. You've made a fool of yourself long enough. What was the girl playing for? Marriage?"
He nodded. "I guess so." He laughed curtly.
"And she almost won."
Ursula smiled with fine mockery. "Almost, but not quite. I know you men. Women do that sort of fool thing. But men--never--at least not the ambitious, snobbish New York men."
"She almost won," he repeated. "At least, I almost did it. If I had stayed a minute longer I'd have done it."
"You like to think you would," mocked Ursula.
"But if you had tried to say the words your lungs would have collapsed, your vocal chords snapped and your tongue shriveled."
"I am not so damn sure I shan't do it yet," he burst out fiercely.
"But I am," said Ursula, calm, brisk, practical.
"What's she going to do?"
"Going to work."
Ursula laughed joyously. "What a joke! A woman go to work when she needn't!"
"She is going to work."
"To work another man."
"She meant it."
"How easily women fool men!--even the wise men like you."
"She meant it."
"She still hopes to marry you--or she has heard of your marriage----"
Norman lifted his head. Into his face came the cynical, suspicious expression.
"And has fastened on some other man. Or perhaps she's found some good provider who's willing to marry her."
Norman sprang up, his eyes blazing, his mouth working cruelly. "By God!" he cried. "If I thought that!"
His sister was alarmed. Such a man--in such a delirium--might commit any absurdity. He flung himself down in despair. "Urse, why can't I get rid of this thing? It's ruining me. It's killing me!"
"Your good sense tells you if you had her you'd be over it--" She snapped her fingers--"like that."
"Yes--yes--I know it! But--" He groaned--"she has broken with me."
Ursula went to him and kissed him and took his head in her arms. "What a BOY-boy it is!" she said tenderly. "Oh, it must be dreadful to have always had whatever one wanted and then to find something one can't have. We women are used to it--and the usual sort of man. But not your sort, Freddy--and I'm so sorry for you."
"I want her, Urse--I want her," he groaned, and he was almost sobbing. "My God, I CAN'T get on without her."
"Now, Freddy dear, listen to me. You know she's 'way, 'way beneath you--that she isn't at all what you've got in the habit of picturing her--that it's all delusion and nonsense----"
"I want her," he repeated. "I want her."
"You'd be ashamed if you had her as a wife--wouldn't you?"
He was silent.
"She isn't a LADY."
"I don't know," replied he.
"She hasn't any sense. A low sort of cunning, yes. But not brains--not enough to hold you."
"I don't know," replied he. "She's got enough for a woman. And--I WANT her."
"She isn't to be compared with Josephine."
"But I don't want Josephine. I want HER."
"But which do you want to MARRY?--to bring forward as your wife?--to spend your life with?"
"I know. I'm a mad fool. But, Urse, I can't help it." He stood up suddenly. "I've used every weapon I've got. Even pride--and it skulked away. My sense of humor--and it weakened. My will--and it snapped."
"Is she so wonderful?"
"She is so--elusive. I can't understand her--I can't touch her. I can't find her. She keeps me going like a man chasing an echo."
"Like a man chasing an echo," repeated Ursula reflectively. "I understand. It is maddening. She must be clever--in her way."
"Or very simple. God knows which; I don't--and sometimes I think she doesn't, either." He made a gesture of dismissal. "Well, it's finished. I must pull myself together--or try to."
"You will," said his sister confidently. "A fortnight from now you'll be laughing at yourself."
"I am now. I have been all along. But--it does no good."
She had to go and dress. But she could not leave until she had tried to make him comfortable. He was drinking brandy and soda and staring at his feet which were stretched straight out toward the fire. "Where's your sense of humor?" she demanded. "Throw yourself on your sense of humor. It's a friend that sticks when all others fail."
"It's my only hope," he said with a grim smile. "I can see myself. No wonder she despises me."
"Despises you?" scoffed Ursula. "A WOMAN des-pise YOU! She's crazy about you, I'll bet anything you like. Before you're through with this you'll find out I'm right. And then--you'll have no use for her."
"She despises me."
"Well--what of it? Really, Fred, it irritates me to see you absolutely unlike yourself. Why, you're as broken-spirited as a henpecked old husband."
"Just that," he admitted, rising and looking drearily about. "I don't know what the devil to do next.
Everything seems to have stopped."
"Going to see Josephine this evening?"
"I suppose so," was his indifferent reply.
