"The fact that you are a woman has no weight with me, so far as your
persuading me to let you remain of the party may be concerned. Women
have never counted in my life. Their wiles, arts, graces, tears, mean
nothing to me. Their entreaties seem futile. Their arguments appear
like trivial puerilities.

"Other men are sometimes influenced by such. I tell you now, madam, I
shall not be. Your entreaties will have no weight. When the time
comes for you to leave _Nissr_, I trust you will go quietly, with no
distressing scene."

A certain grimness showed in the woman's face, making it sternly
heroic as the face of Medea or Zenobia. She answered:

"Do you think me the type that entreats, that sheds tears, that
exercises wiles?"

"We won't discuss your personality, madam! This interview is drawing
to an end. Until we reach land, nothing can be done. Nothing, but to
look out for your injury. Common humanity demands that your wound be
dressed. Is it a serious hurt?"

"Not compared with the hurt you are inflicting, in banishing me from
the Flying Legion!"

"Come, madam, refrain from extravagant speeches! What is your wound?"

"A clean shot through the left arm, I think, a little below the
shoulder."