"I had almost forgotten that man," she whispered. "And you mean that you
would fight for me--again?"

"A thousand times."

The colour grew deeper in her cheeks. "I read something about you once that
I have never forgotten, John Aldous," she said. "It was after you returned
from Thibet. It said that you were largely made up of two emotions--your
contempt for woman and your love of adventure; that it would be impossible
for you not to see a flaw in one, and that for the other--physical
excitement--you would go to the ends of the earth. Perhaps it is this--your
desire for adventure--that makes you want to go with me to Tête Jaune?"

"I am beginning to believe that it will be the greatest adventure of my
life," he replied, and something in his quiet voice held her silent. He
rose to his feet, and stood before her. "It is already the Great
Adventure," he went on. "I feel it. And I am the one to judge. Until to-day
I would have staked my life that no power could have wrung from me the
confession I am going to make to you voluntarily. I have laughed at the
opinion the world has held of me. To me it has all been a colossal joke. I
have enjoyed the hundreds of columns aimed at me by excited women through
the press. They have all asked the same question: Why do you not write of
the good things in women instead of always the bad? I have never given them
an answer. But I answer you now--here. I have not picked upon the
weaknesses of women because I despise them. Those weaknesses--the
destroying frailties of womankind--I have driven over rough-shod through
the pages of my books because I have always believed that Woman was the one
thing which God came nearest to creating _perfect_. I believe they should
be perfect. And because they have not quite that perfection which should be