“Don’t imagine I want you to. It makes you angry and defensive—and boring—if you want to know. One can get awfully tired of crusades, Pascal. I certainly did. Take care that Gini doesn’t.” She looked at him sharply. “You have quarreled, haven’t you, Pascal?”

“As a matter of fact, it’s over.” His face darkened. “No doubt that delights you. Go on. Here’s your perfect opportunity. You were always expert at hitting someone when he’s down.”

“I gave as good as I got,” she said. Then: “Look, Pascal, I’m sorry if you and Gini have argued. No doubt you’ll make up. This time. And the time after that. You’ll make up because you love her a great deal more than you ever loved me.” As if gathering her courage, she added:

“She’s not right for you, Pascal.”

She spoke the words just as he reached for the door. Her timing, Pascal thought furiously, had always been good. He turned and gave her a look of contempt.

“You imagine I’m interested in your opinions of Gini? Keep them to yourself.”

“As you wish.” Her face became set. “But I’m damn well going to say this, Pascal—and you’re going to listen for once. What you do not need, Pascal, is a woman who’s highly sensitive, highly intelligent, whose emotions are very close to the skin—and Gini is like that, as even you’d admit.” She gave him a cool glance. “In fact, if you want me to be perfectly frank, what you need, Pascal, is someone older, with no interest in a career, and someone with whom you yourself are not passionately in love. You need an undemanding wife. Your life makes too many demands. Your work does. Your character does. And too many demands cause strife.”

“Oh, fine.” He gave her a look of pure dislike. “So I need someone stupid, someone insensitive? Someone I don’t love? That’s my ideal wife? Point me in the direction of this paragon of dullness. I can’t wait.”

The reply made Helen laugh; then her face became serious. “I didn’t say you couldn’t love her, Pascal. I said not being passionately in love with her would be an advantage.” She hesitated. “Do you imagine I’m passionately in love with Ralph?”

“I haven’t considered the matter. Frankly, I couldn’t care less.”

“Well, I’m not. I love him in a quiet, companionable way—”

“Oh, I’m sure you do. And would you still feel that kind of affection if he were less rich?”

She flushed, hesitated, then, to Pascal’s surprise, gave him a rueful look. “Very possibly not. I’m a realist. We have different priorities, you and I, Pascal—we always did. I don’t believe it’s such a terrible sin to want nice clothes, a nice apartment. And it’s not just for my own sake. Ralph is in a position to give Marianne so much. A lovely house in England, ponies, the best schools—with your consent, of course. It will be stable, and it will be privileged. Put your hand on your heart—could you ever have given her that?”