"Jimmie," she said, and her rich voice above the tumult was clear as a
bell, "do you know how great you are?"

"Yes," he said. "I--I feel a little drunk with it, Ursula."

"Oh," she said, and now her words stumbled, "I--I love you for it. Oh,
Jimmie, Jimmie, let's run away and love for a million years--"

All that he had wanted was in her words--the urge of youth, the beat of
the wind, the song of the sea. My heart stood still.

He drew back a little. He had wanted this. But he did not want it
now--with Ursula. I saw it and she saw it.

"What a joke it would be," he said, "but we have other things to do, my
dear."

"What things?"

The roar of the crowd came louder to their ears. "Harding, Harding!
Jimmie Harding!"

"Listen," he said, and the light in his eyes was not for her. "Listen,
Ursula, they're calling me."

She stood alone after he had left her. I am sure that even then she did
not quite believe it was the end. She did not know how, in all the
years, his wife had molded him.