“If you mean that Orestes isn’t so remarkable a person as Pyrrhus,” said Hermione, “I am willing to accept your opinion. That is, I don’t agree with it, but I don’t mind your thinking so. You may be quite right. But that is no reason why I should hesitate a moment where my heart is committed once for all. Some men and some women are made for each other. I believe there is a destined mate for each one of us, if we are only lucky enough to find each other. Orestes and I are mates, that’s all there is to it. Pyrrhus may be as wonderful as you say, but he is not my fate. It’s no use arguing; I feel it.”

“You feel that Orestes and you,” said Helen, “were fashioned and preserved for each other, the product and climax of happy stars? I know the feeling well. I’ve had it several times, for different men. It’s nature’s fine way of saying that at the moment we want him very much. Haven’t you ever seen a child, at first sight of a doll, clasp it to her arms and cry, ‘That’s my doll?’ What we want very much always seems destined.”

“You don’t believe in people being spiritual mates?”

“They may become so in time,” said Helen, “but it takes a great deal of adjustment, so much so that rather than be pessimistic about the accuracy of heavenly patterns, I’d rather say there are no predestined couples, no separated parts which brought together make a harmonious whole. You can’t believe that spiritual mate nonsense, my daughter, after the experience of having two or more sincere men in love with you at once. Both think you are their fate, and when you choose one, the other will never be convinced that you knew what your fate was. Very probably you didn’t. And certainly you can’t believe the theory after you find yourself in love a second time—the same passion, the same heartache, the same sense of destiny—but another man. When we are young we all are inclined to believe in the one person intended for us, and when we learn that our devoted hearts can break a second time, or even a third, we despise ourselves. Then gradually we come to accept the order of nature, that love can strike again and again, as our personalities develop and change, and our destinies are not so final as we supposed them to be.”

“Mother, you talk as though nothing were stable in this world,” said Hermione. “I can’t agree; it seems impious. I prefer to be loyal.”