“Because it is the best type of woman alive and the hope of the race. Man is both the victim of his race and of his sex. Woman is only the victim of man—which simplifies the question for her.”
“Do you love Mary Gordon?”
“Yes—very much indeed.”
“Shall you always love her?”
“I think so—more and more. A good woman becomes a great deal to a man. She may lack the two things that enthrall man most, passion and intellect; but she shares his burdens and his sorrows; she never fails him in poverty or in trouble; her sympathy is as ready for the small harrowings of life as for its disasters. She satisfies the domestic instinct which is in every man—symbolizes home to him. She bears his children and gives him unfailing submission and help.”
Helena pressed her fan against her lips. Something stabbed through her.
“A clever woman could give you all that—and more,” she said, after a moment.
“No; she might think she could in the first enthusiasm of love. But she would not, for the reason that she would exact as much in return; and a man has so little time.”
“And is that your idea of happiness?”
He hesitated a moment. “It would be hard to find a better. There are plenty of clever and attractive women a man can always meet.”