eated. "I seldom feel like laughing, but I almost do
now. I have encountered so many curious people and have heard so many
curious things during the past twenty-four hours. You don't believe in
concealing your thoughts out here in the wilderness, do you?"

"I haven't expressed _my_ thoughts," he corrected. "I was telling you what
_they_ think."

"Oh-h-h--I beg your pardon again!"

"Not at all," he answered lightly, and now his eyes were laughing frankly
into her own. "I don't mind informing you," he went on, "that I am the
biggest curiosity you will meet between this side of the mountains and the
sea. I am not accustomed to championing women. I allow them to pursue their
own course without personal interference on my part. But--I suppose it will
give you some satisfaction if I confess it--I followed you into Bill's
place because you were more than ordinarily beautiful, and because I wanted
to see fair play. I knew you were making a mistake. I knew what would
happen."

They had passed the end of the street, and entered a little green plain
that was soft as velvet underfoot. On the farther side of this, sheltered
among the trees, were two or three tents. The man led the way toward these.

"Now, I suppose I've spoiled it all," he went on, a touch of irony in his
voice. "It was really quite heroic of me to follow you into Bill's place,
don't you think? You probably want to tell me so, but don't quite dare.
And I should play up to my part, shouldn't I? But I cannot--not
satisfactorily. I'm really a bit disgusted with myself for having taken as
much interest in you as I have. I write books for a living. My name is John
Aldous."

With a little cry of amazement, his companion stopped. Without knowing it,
her hand had gripped his arm.

"You are John Aldous--who wrote 'Fair Play,' and 'Women!'" she gasped.

"Yes," he said, amusement in his face.

"I have read those books--and I have read your plays," she breathed, a
mysterious tremble in her voice. "You despise women!"

"Devoutly."

She drew a deep breath. Her hand dropped from his arm.

"This is very, very funny," she mused, gazing off to the sun-capped peaks
of the mountains. "You have flayed women alive. You have made them want to
mob you. And yet----"

"Millions of them read my books," he chuckled.

"Yes--all of them read your books," she replied, looking straight into his
face. "And I guess--in many ways--you have pointed out things that are
true."

It was