第11章 II(6)

He turned in at his sister's sitting room. She was standing at a table smoking a cigarette. Her tall, slim figure looked even taller and slimmer in the tight-fitting black satin evening dress. Her features faintly suggested her relationship to Norman. She was a handsome woman, with a voluptuous discontented mouth.

"What are you worried about, sis?" inquired he.

"How did you know I was worried?" returned she.

"You always are."

"Oh!"

"But you're unusually worried to-night."

"How did you know that?"

"You never smoke just before dinner unless your nerves are ragged. . . . What is it?"

"Money."

"Of course. No one in New York worries about anything else."

"But THIS is serious," protested she. "I've been thinking--about your marriage--and what'll become of Clayton and me?" She halted, red with embarrassment.

Norman lit a cigarette himself. "I ought to have explained," said he. "But I assumed you'd understand."

"Fred, you know Clayton can't make anything.

And when you marry--why--what WILL become of us!"

"I've been taking care of Clayton's money--and of yours. I'll continue to do it. I think you'll find you're not so badly of. You see, my position enables me to compel a lot of the financiers to let me in on the ground floor--and to warn me in good time before the house falls. You'll not miss me, Ursula."

She showed her gratitude in her eyes, in a slight quiver of the lips, in an unsteadiness of tone as she said, "You're the real thing, Freddie."

"You can go right on as you are now. Only--"

He was looking at her with meaning directness.

She moved uneasily, refused to meet his gaze.

"Well?" she said, with a suggestion of defiance.

"It's all very natural to get tired of Clayton," said her brother. "I knew you would when you married him. But-- Sis, I mind my own business. Still--Why make a fool of yourself?"

"You don't understand," she exclaimed passionately.

And the light in her eyes, the color in her cheeks, restored to her for the moment the beauty of her youth that was almost gone.

"Understand what?" inquired he in a tone of gentle mockery.

"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."

"Ah, but I can't help myself. Don't you see it in me, Fred? I'm not a fool. Yet see what a fool I act."

"Spoiled child--that's all. No self-control."