I had planned great work for to-day. And you spoiled it. I couldn't get you
out of my mind. And it made me--ugly."

"And that was--all?" she whispered, a tense waiting in her eyes. "You
didn't think----"

"What Quade thought," he bit in sharply. The grip of his fingers hurt her
hand. "No, not that. My God, I didn't make you think _that?_"

"I'm a stranger--and they say women don't go to Tête Jaune alone," she
answered doubtfully.

"That's true, they don't--not as a general rule. Especially women like you.
You're alone, a stranger, and too beautiful. I don't say that to flatter
you. You are beautiful, and you undoubtedly know it. To let you go on alone
and unprotected among three or four thousand men like most of those up
there would be a crime. And the women, too--the Little Sisters. They'd
blast you. If you had a husband, a brother or a father waiting for you it
would be different. But you've told me you haven't. You have made me change
my mind about my book. You are of more interest to me just now than that.
Will you believe me? Will you let me be a friend, if you need a friend?"

To Aldous it seemed that she drew herself up a little proudly. For a moment
she seemed taller. A rose-flush of colour spread over her cheeks. She drew
her hand from him. And yet, as she looked at him, he could see that she was
glad.

"Yes, I believe you," she said. "But I must not accept your offer of
friendship. You have done more for me now than I can ever repay. Friendship
means service, and to serve me would spoil your plans, for you are in great