Gerardo. I speak earnestly, Helen. We don't fall in love with one person or another; we fall in love with our type, which we find everywhere in the world if we only look sharply enough.
Helen. And when we meet our type, are we sure then of being loved again?
Gerardo [angrily]. You have no right to complain of your husband. Was any girl ever compelled to marry against her will? That is all rot. It is only the women who have sold themselves for certain material advantages and then try to dodge their obligations who try to make us believe that nonsense.
Helen [smiling]. They break their contracts.
Gerardo [pounding his chest]. When I sell myself, at least I am honest about it.
Helen. Isn't love honest?
Gerardo. No! Love is a beastly bourgeois virtue. Love is the last refuge of the mollycoddle, of the coward. In my world every man has his actual value, and when two human beings make up a pact they know exactly what to expect from each other. Love has nothing to do with it, either.
Helen. Won't you lead me into your world, then?
Gerardo. Helen, will you compromise the happiness of your life and the happiness of your dear ones for just a few days' pleasure?
Helen. No.