She laughed at him. He rose from his knees:
"Teach me what Dutchwomen are like, though they are slower than we."
She pointed to his chair, with an imperious gesture:
"Sit down," she said. "I am not a typical Dutchwoman. If I were, I should not have come to Rome. I pride myself on being a cosmopolitan. But we were not discussing that, we were speaking of Urania. Are you thinking seriously of marrying her?"
"What can I do, if you thwart me? Why not be on my side, like a dear friend?"
She hesitated. Neither of these two, Urania nor he, was ripe for her ideas. She despised them both. Very well, let them get married: he in order to be rich; she to become a princess and duchess.
"Listen to me," she said, bending towards him. "You want to marry her for the sake of her millions. But your marriage will be unhappy from the beginning. She is a frivolous little thing; she will want to cut a dash ... and you belong to the Blacks."
"We can live at Nice: then she can do as she pleases. We will come to Rome now and again, go to San Stefano now and again. And, as for unhappiness," he continued, pulling a tragic face, "what do I care? I am not happy as it is. I shall try to make Urania happy. But my heart ... will be elsewhere."
"Where?"
"With the feminist movement."