But he could see no excuse for this presumptuousness in himself.

If she was in distress it was not of a physical sort for which he might have suggested his services as a remedy.

She was neither hungry nor cold, for there was a basket at her side in which he had a glimpse of broken bits of food; and at her back, draped over the seat, was a heavy beaver-skin coat.
He rose to his feet with the intention of returning to the smoking compartment in which he had left Father Roland.

His movement seemed to rouse the woman.

Again her dark eyes met his own.