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"Absolutely."

He was handsome enough, goodness knows. He was witty and companionable. They danced well together, a definite indication, he claimed, that they would get along fine in bed. He deferred to her at the conference table, a tonic for her ego. He was rich. Katharine didn't remember her own mother, who had died when she was nine, very clearly, but she did remember one thing her mother had said: "Katy, it's just as easy to marry a rich man as a poor one." This had been said, half in jest, at the dinner table at the end of a polite argument over a bill at Woody's. Her father was not poor. His salary, as Military Curator of the Library of Congress, was considerably above the average paid government workers. But he was poor according to the standards of people like the Walbacks. It was curious that out of the total advice her mother must have given her, this alone she recalled exactly. Yet she found it necessary to say, since she was resolutely honest, "Raoul, I'm not sure I love you. If I loved you, we'd be on the way to the mountains right now. You wouldn't have to bribe me with marriage."