"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."