And he was one with her in her admiration for Roosevelt--a man whose facility in finding adventures and whose behavior when he had found them had always made a strong appeal to Cleggett.

If he could not have been Cleggett he would have liked to have been either the Chevalier d'Artagnan or Theodore Roosevelt.
"He is a great man," said Cleggett.
But the lady, with her second cup of tea in her hand, was evidently thinking of something else.

Leaning back in her chair, she said to Cleggett: "It is no good for you to deny that you think I'm a horridly unconventional sort of person!" Cleggett made a polite, deprecatory gesture.
"Yes, yes, you do," she said, decidedly.

"And, really, I am! I am impulsive! I am TOO impulsive!" She raised the cup to her lips, drank, and looked off towards the western horizon, which the sun was beginning to paint ruddily; she mused, murmuring as if to herself: "Sir Archibald always thought I was too impulsive, dear man." After a meditative pause she said, leaning her elbows on the table and gazing searchingly into Cleggett's eyes: "I am going to trust you.

I am going to reward your kindness by telling you a portion of my strange story.