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she revealed. "That's a long time for a husband and

wife, right?" she followed, fixing her eyes on me for

my reaction.

"Well . . ." I looked down and smoothed out my

skirt so she wouldn't see my face again. Grandmere

Catherine used to say my thoughts were as obvious as

a secret written in a book with a glass cover. "I don't

think there's any set time or rate of lovemaking, even

for married people. Besides," I replied, now thinking

about Beau, "it's something that both have to want

spontaneously, impulsively."

"James," she said, gazing at her entwined

fingers, "believes in the rhythm method because he's

such a devout Catholic. I have to take my temperature

before we make love. You don't do that, do you?" I shook my head. I knew that a woman's body

temperature was supposed to reflect when she was most apt to become pregnant, and that was considered an acceptable method of birth control, but I had to admit, taking your temperature before sleeping

together would diminish the romance.

"So you see why I'm so unhappy?" she

concluded.

"Doesn't he know just how deeply unhappy you

are?" I asked. She shrugged. "You should talk to him

more about it, Jeanne. No one else can help you two

but you two."

"But if there's no passion . . ."

"Yes, I agree. There must be passion, but there

must be compromise, too. That's what marriage is," I

continued, realizing how true it was for Paul and me,

"compromise --two people sacrificing willingly for

the good of each other. They must care as much for

each other as they do for themselves. But it works