'Go mad! Why?'
'Because this life is such a mockery, such a ghastly, hollow mockery!'
'Don't be silly. Why is it a mockery?'
'I don't suppose you can understand,' he said, 'not even you. Oh, I am a fool!'
'How has that fact so suddenly dawned on you?' I asked with a laugh.
'I was mad to come here, mad to see her. Why, just think,—here am I, without name, without home, without—without anything! But how did I know! Am I to blame? I couldn't help falling in love with her.'
'Falling in love with her! With whom?'
'You must know; you must have seen. It is driving me mad, Luscombe! I would,—I would,—oh, God knows what I would do to get her! But think of it! Think of the ghastly mockery of it! There she is, young, fair, beautiful, a fit mate for the best in the world, and I—think of what I am! Besides, there's that man,—I know him,—I know him, Luscombe.'