Yet of the three, none knew precisely the extent of the others' knowledge.

Dunwody at least was polite, if insistent, in his wish to learn more of this mysterious young woman who had appealed to him for aid, yet who now made no further sign.
Who was she?
What _sort_ was she?
he demanded of himself.

God! if she was one sort.

And why should she _not_ be that sort?
Did not the River carry many sorts?
Was not the army ever gallant?
What officer ever hesitated in case of a fair damsel?
And what fair damsel was not fair game in the open contest among men--that old, old, oldest and keenest of all contests since this hoary world began?
"I am sure the fatigue of the journey across the mountains must have left you quite weary," he ventured, addressing her.

"There's only the choice of sleeping, or of hanging over the deck rail and looking at these hills." He waved a hand toward a window, whence might be seen the near-by shores.
Josephine St.Auban showed no sign of perturbation as she answered: "Not so weary as busy.