"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."