But in the modern world, in which the internet has become a vehicle for all manner of impropriety, she regards this kind of behaviour as perfectly acceptable.We have encountered one another via an internet dating service established for the sole purpose of enabling married people to commit adultery.
Postings such as: "I want a man who can look after me and knows how to treat a woman. I'm surprised and unsettled by the forward tone of some of the material. Determined to avoid the connotations, I reply: "The Beatles." I never hear from her again.
One woman sends me a message heavily laden with sexual innuendo and I come to regard her as the mistress of the single entendre. Another woman's first contact with me included a plan for a day out together, including visits to art galleries, a stroll round a park and then "a few hours under the duvet". I'm later propositioned by someone who tells me she has an hourglass figure.
So I paid £119 for a month's membership, giving me an entre to thousands of faithless females.
They are allowed to sign up for free as a way of ensuring the numbers are balanced between the sexes.
In order to fit in with the general ethos of the website I have invented a wife.
Our relationship, I note, has suffered because we don't spend enough time together (not surprising really, since she doesn't exist).
But if I'm going to find out what really makes these women tick, I need to leave the safety of the virtual world and see them for myself. I arrange to meet a 41-year-old mother of two who misses "romance and flirting", in a cafe in two days' time.
She has declined to tell me her name, so I have to think of her as her web sobriquet.
Reading between the lines, I suspect she wants to meet again.
Sadly, I feel I have got all I want out of our brief relationship - two cups of coffee and a short conversation - and it's time to move on and find someone new.
Many of them are middle-class, many have young children.