"Good!" said Jack. "That has turned out all all right, anyway."
Mary searched his face, and a flash of anxiety appeared in her quiet eyes. "Something has happened here?" she said.
Jack nodded. His constricted breast welled up. Here was somebody he could tell. He did not reflect on the ambiguity of the situation. He only knew instinctively that he needed help, and that help was to be had in those deep eyes. However, he stuck to the bare facts of his narrative.
"There's a good deal beneath that," said Mary.
"Yes," he said. "I'll tell you when I can."
"You must let me help you," she said earnestly. "I understand the people so much better than you can."
"The people?" he said surprised.
"The natives," she said. "I think that Jean Paul is at the bottom of this."
Jack stared at her. This was quite a new thought to him. It required consideration.
Their further talk was prevented by the customary shrill hail from up river, announcing the return of the boat party. Travelling downstream, they were able to make ten miles an hour, consequently they arrived close on the heels of the Cranstons, who had left Seven-Mile Creek an hour before them.