an. The bulk of
the visitor shook under a suppressed laugh.

"Well," he retorted, "I do not go. This woman. A good-looker, eh? She is
pleasant--to men? Where is she? Who is she?"

"She's my secretary, sir." Elas jumped at the change of his visitor's
humour. "She's not much more than a kid. But she's quite a 'looker,'
I'll send for her, if you'll permit me. She's getting some reports for
me. I'll ask her to bring them up. You can see her then, sir, and, if
you'll forgive me, I won't present her to you. If I do she'll guess
something, and it's best she knows nothing of this contemplated deal--as
regards you."

For a moment the banker made no reply. He sat, an adipose mass,
breathing heavily, and sucking at his cigar. Then quite suddenly, he
nodded.

"Send for her," he said sharply.

Elas reached the telephone and rang down.

"Hello! That you? Oh, will you step up a moment, Miss McDonald? Yes. Are
they ready? Good. That's just what I want. Please. All of them."

* * * * *

Nancy knocked at the door and stepped into the room. She was carrying a
large typescript of many pages. It represented many days and evenings of
concentrated labour. It had been a labour not so much of love as of
ambition. It was an exhaustive summary of the position of the
Skandinavia's forestry in the Shagaunty Valley.

She missed the squat figure in the chair she usually occupied. She saw
nothing of the stare of the narrow eyes concentrated upon her. She saw
only the tall figure of Peterman, standing waiting for her beyond his
desk in such a position that, to reach him, she must pass herself in
review before the devouring gaze of the great banker.

She walked briskly towards him, her short skirt yielding the seductive
rustle of the silk beneath it. Her movements were beyond words in grace.
Her tall figure, so beautifully proportioned, and so daintily rounded,
displayed the becoming coat-frock she usually wore in business to
absolute perfection.

The banker's searching eyes realised all this to the last detail. He
realised much more. For his was the regard that sought beneath the
surface of things. It was that regard which every wholesome, good woman
resents. But ultimately it was the girl's face and hair that held him.
The rare beauty of the latter's colour sent a surge of appreciation
running through his sensual veins. And the perfect beauty, and delicate
charm of her pretty features, stirred him no less.