"Your party is so split up this year," said the girl. "Which wing are you affiliated with?"
This was not "small talk," as Danvers recognized with an amused feeling that he had not expected a lady to know anything outside his preconceived idea of feminine chat.
"Montana politics have no wings," he quibbled.
Miss Blair laughed. "Really, haven't you decided which of the candidates you'll support for United States senator?" She ran over the names.
"That's rather a leading question, isn't it?" evaded Philip. "If a man asked me, I'd give him no satisfaction. I will say to you, though, that I am going to do my best to send some one to Washington who is pledged to place community interests before his own."
"I did not mean to ask impertinent questions, or to cross-examine," quavered Miss Blair. "One who finds out anything from you must have taken his thirty-third degree in Masonry. I am not trying my hand at lobbying," she added as an afterthought. "You mustn't think that. I'm just interested in the political situation. And brother Charlie won't talk politics with me any more than he'll recount his experiences as a freighter."
"Charlie? Brother Charlie?" A dim memory revived. "I beg your pardon! Is Scar Faced Charlie your brother?"
"Yes. Didn't you know?"
"Then you are the little girl——"
"Winifred. I thought you didn't recognize me, though I knew you at once. But you would scarcely remember me, while I—you know you saved my life."