Was there such a thing as perfect love? She had her doubts. She reasoned
that love was what a body decided was love, the psychological moment
when the physical attraction became irresistible. Who could tell before
the fact which was the true and which the false? Lived there a woman,
herself excepted, who had not hesitated between two men--a man who had
not doddered between two women--for better or for worse? What did the
average woman know of the man, the average man know of the woman--until
afterward? To stake all upon a guess!

She knew Cutty. Under her own eyes he had passed through certain proving
fires. There would be no guessing the manner of man he was. He was
fifty-two; that is to say, the grand passion had come and gone. There
would be mutual affection and comradeship.

True, she had her dreams; but she could lay them away without any
particular regret. She had never been touched by the fire of passion.
Let it go. But she did know what perfect comradeship was, and she would
grasp it and never loose her hold. Something out of life.

"A narrow squeak, Miss Conover," said Berumi, breaking the long silence.

"A miss is as good as a mile," replied Kitty, not at all grateful for
the interruption.

"We've done everything we could to protect you. If you can't see
now--why, the jig is up. A chain is as strong as its weakest link. And
in a game like this a woman is always the weakest link."