Chapter III: “The Policy in Favour of Protection” opens not with economics, but with an intimate encounter that reveals the tension between personal desire and moral restraint. In the glow of a firelit room, an older woman’s solitude is broken by the sudden arrival of a young visitor, cloaked not in winter’s cold, but in the anguish of love unreturned. The younger woman, refined in dress yet raw in emotion, implores her elder to intercede on her behalf—her affections aimed toward a well-known man, a mutual acquaintance whose fame and charisma only deepen her obsession. She believes that the older woman, respected and once close to the object of her passion, holds the power to awaken his love. Her plea is not selfish, but born of desperation, clinging to the older woman as the last thread of hope. This appeal, spoken with trembling sincerity, sets the stage for a more complex unraveling of the heart’s desires.

As their dialogue unfolds, the older woman listens with a calm that only time can grant. She does not rush to judge, nor does she encourage fantasy. Instead, she gently steers the conversation toward the realities of enduring love—the sacrifices, the boredom, the relentless grind of daily companionship. Love, she warns, is not all letters and moonlit sighs. It is built in silence, in shared disappointments, and in the long work of understanding someone not just as a figure of romance, but as a partner shaped by flaws. Her words do not diminish the young woman’s feelings but offer them context. With each soft-spoken truth, she presses the younger woman to examine not only what she feels, but why she clings so tightly to it. Is it love, or the idea of it?

What remains unspoken is the older woman’s own silent sorrow—her private connection to the same man now loved by another. Though never revealed in direct words, her tone and hesitation carry the weight of personal history. She knows what the young woman does not: the man has already chosen a path that leads away from them both. Still, the older woman does not use this knowledge to wound. Instead, she steps aside, not in weakness, but in silent dignity, allowing the younger woman to continue her journey unburdened by competition. This act of protection—quiet, invisible, but profound—is the very essence of the chapter’s title. It reflects a form of emotional safeguarding, a deliberate shielding of others from truths that would do more harm than good.

Time passes, and the younger woman returns, her spirit shattered. The man has married another, and the dreams she had so carefully held have collapsed into grief. She weeps not only for lost love but for lost belief—that deep, aching disillusionment that comes when the world refuses to bend to the heart’s will. The older woman embraces her, not with platitudes, but with a perspective born of suffering. She tells her that even this heartbreak, raw and bitter, will shape her into someone stronger, more aware. It is not a dismissal of pain, but a reframing of it. Love may be lost, she says, but selfhood must remain.

The final moments of the chapter shift into a quiet meditation on what it means to endure. The older woman, though alone, does not crumble. She reflects on the roles women play—not only in loving, but in letting go. Her protection of the younger woman, and perhaps of the man as well, was never about denying herself entirely, but about choosing peace over longing, integrity over rivalry. The policy in favor of protection, then, is not written in law, but in emotional wisdom. It is a way of navigating life’s wounds without inflicting new ones. That act of shielding others, even while hurting, is not a mark of weakness but of profound inner strength.

In the end, the chapter speaks to a universal truth: that the heart’s battles are rarely won with passion alone. They require patience, clarity, and sometimes the courage to stand aside. Through its characters, this story gives voice to the countless quiet acts of sacrifice that shape love’s deeper truths—acts rarely seen, but always felt. The women in this chapter do not fight for a man’s attention; they fight to preserve their own sense of worth. And in doing so, they offer a lesson far greater than any romantic conquest. They embody a policy not of surrender, but of strength—one rooted in empathy, protection, and a profound belief in the healing power of time.