Indeed, her companion afterward decided that she had done so in this case.

Ida Stirling had met many rising young men, and some who had made their mark, but none of them had aroused in her the faintest thrill of unrest or passion.
So far, the depths of her nature had remained wholly unstirred.

One could almost have told it from her laugh as she answered her companion's last observation.
"I thought it was woman's curiosity," she said; and then remembered suddenly that on the previous evening she had certainly been a trifle curious about the strange packer from the railroad gang.
Miss Kinnaird made no reply to this; but in a moment she stretched out a pointing hand.
"Now," she said, "the disturbing element is obtruding itself." Farther down the river there was a flash of something white amidst the pale green shimmer of the flood.

Ida rose, but her companion beckoned her to sit down again.
"Oh," she said, a trifle impatiently, "don't be prudish.

He's ever so far off, and I've never had an opportunity to study anybody swimming." It was, of course, Weston, who supposed himself far enough from camp not to be troubled by spectators, swimming with a powerful side-stroke upstream.