therefore yield to her and let
her make of his life a waste and a folly?"

"You're far too clever for me to argue with. Anyhow, as I was saying, if
you persist in what I call tyranny----"

"When a woman cries tyranny, it means she's furious because she is not
getting _her_ autocratic way."

"Maybe so," admitted Ursula cheerfully. "At any rate, if you
persist--unless she loves you utterly, your life will be miserable."

"She may make her own life miserable, but not mine," replied he. "If I
were the ordinary man--counting himself lucky to have induced any woman
to marry him--afraid if he lost his woman he'd not be able to get
another--able to give his woman only an indifferent poor support, and so
on--if I were one of those men, what you say might be true. But what
deep and permanent mischief can a frail woman do a strong man?"

"There's instance after instance in history----"

"Of strong men wrecking _themselves_ through various kinds of madness,
including sex madness. But, my dear Ursula, not an instance--not
one--where the woman was responsible. If history were truth, instead of
lies--you women might have less conceit."

"You--talking this way!" mocked Ursula.

"Meaning, I suppose, my late infatuation?" inquired he, unruffled.

"I never saw or read of a worse case."

"Am I ruined?"

"No. But why not? Because you got her. If you hadn't--" Ursula blew out
a large cloud of cigarette smoke with a "Pouf!"

"If I hadn't got her," said Norman, "I'd have got well, just the same,
in due time. A sick _weak_ man goes down; a sick _strong_ man gets well.
When a man who's reputed to be strong doesn't get well, it's because he
merely seemed strong but wasn't. The poets and novelists and the
historians and the rest of the nature fakers fail to tell _all_ the facts,
dear sister. All the facts would spoil a pretty story."

Ursula thought a few minutes, suddenly burst out with, "Do you think
Dorothy loves you now?"

Norman rose to go out doors. "I don't think about such unprofitable
things," said he. "As long as we suit each other and get along
pleasantly--why bother about a name for it?"

In the French window he paused, stood looking out with an expression so
peculiar that Ursula, curious, came to see the cause. A few yards away,
under a big symmetrical maple in full leaf sat Dorothy with the baby on
her lap. She was dressed very simply in white. There was a little
sunlight upon her hair, a sheen of gold over her skin