He would not resort to Omm Zaynab, nor was there now anything to be gained from Omm Husni, crippled as she was. But there was a new girl in the administration called Ihsan Ibrahim to whom he had unhesitatingly expressed his affection. For now he did not want to delay his marriage for a single day if he could help it, and each extra night he slept alone made him all the more frightened. It was as though the desire for marriage had constantly smoldered inside him until it finally erupted like a volcano.

But Ihsan did not take his affectionate hints in the right way. She probably thought it inappropriate for a man of his age to court her. But what could he do, since he was no longer capable of the kind of love he had experienced in the days of Sayyida and Onsiyya, or the wild passion he knew in the days of Saniyya and Asila.

One day Ihsan happened to be in his office on some business or other. He seized the chance and said to her, “Do you mind, Miss Ibrahim, if I ask you a question which may sound a bit curious?”

“Of course not, sir.”

“Are you engaged?” he inquired after some hesitation. She blushed and for the first time glanced at him with the eye of a female rather than an employee working under him.

“Yes, sir.”

He was disappointed.

“Forgive me, but I hadn’t noticed a ring on your finger.”

“I meant, I’m almost engaged.”

After a moment’s reflection he said, “May I ask you something…something that must remain a secret between us?”

“Sir?”

“Could you help me find a wife?”

She was confused for a while and then said, choosing her words, “All my friends and relatives are about my age. They wouldn’t suit you, I’m afraid.”

A polite way of saying, “You wouldn’t suit them,” he thought.

“Is it impossible for a man of my age to get married?” he asked, his desperation nearly driving him beyond the limits of propriety.

“Why not? There’s a suitable wife for every sort of age.”

“Thank you, and please forgive me for bothering you!”

“I hope I may be of some service to you.”