“Yes. Why not?”
He released her wrist and fell back in his chair. He frowned and tugged at his beard.
“Do you care for him?”
“Yes. In a way. I sincerely do. If you mean—have I fallen desperately in love with him?—well, I haven’t. That would be absurd. It’s not my habit to fall in love.”
“What would you get out of it?”
She made an impatient gesture. “Rest. Peace. Happiness. He’s a wealthy man and would give me all the comfort I need. I couldn’t face poverty. And he would be kind to me.”
“And he—pardon the brutality of my question—what would he get out of it?”
“I’m a lady, after all,” she said, “and I know how to run a large house—and as a woman I’m not unattractive. And I’d run straight. Temperamentally I am straight. That’s frank. Whatever impulses I’ve had within me with regard to running off the rails have been the other way. Oh, God, yes,” she added, with a little shiver and averted eyes, “I’d run straight.”
“What about ghosts of the past rising up and queering things?”
“I’d take my chance. I’ve bluffed myself out of tight places already, and I could bluff again.”