"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." "Why else should I marry?" argued he. "She's got nothing I need--except herself, Ursula." "What _is_ it you see in her?" "What you see--what everyone sees," replied Fred, with quiet, convincing enthusiasm. "What no one could help seeing. As you say, she's the grand prize." "Yes, she is sweet and handsome--and intelligent--very superior, without making others feel that they're outclassed. Still--there's something lacking--not in her perhaps, but in you. You have it for her--she's crazy about you. But she hasn't it for you." "What?" "I can't tell you. It isn't a thing that can be put into words." "Then it doesn't exist."