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.