Captain Dell delighted in her.  He had already taught her a great deal, and was now drilling her in the skilled arts of measurement and valuation.  The Squire, in stupefaction, watched her at work with pole and tape, measuring, noting, comparing.  Had it been any one else he would have been bored and contemptuous.  But the novelty of the thing and the curious fact that the lady who looked up his Greek references was also the lady who was measuring the trees, kept him a half-unwilling but still fascinated spectator of her proceedings.

In the midst of them Sir Henry Chicksands appeared, making his way through the thick undergrowth.  Elizabeth threw a hasty look at the Squire.  This was the first time the two neighbours had met since the quarrel.  The Squire had actually written first—­and to please her.  Very touching, and very embarrassing!  She hoped for the best.

Sir Henry Chicksands advanced as though nothing had happened—­solid, ruddy, benevolent, and well dressed, as usual.

He bowed with marked deference to Elizabeth, and then offered a hand to the Squire, which was limply accepted.

’Well, Mannering, very glad to see you.  Like every one else, you seem to be selling your woods.’

‘Under threat of being shot if I don’t!’ said the Squire grimly.

‘What?  They’re commandeered?’

’The Government spies are all about.  I preferred to anticipate them.  Well, what about your ploughed-up grass-lands, Chicksands?  I hear they are full of wire-worms, and the crops a very poor show.’

‘Ah, it was an enemy said that,’ laughed Sir Henry, submitting with a good grace to some more remarks of the same kind, and escaping from them as soon as he could.

‘I heard of your haul of ash,’ he said.  ’A man in the Air Board told me.  Magnificent!’

‘You may thank her.’  The Squire indicated his secretary.  ’I knew nothing about it.’

‘And you’re still hunting?’ Sir Henry turned to Elizabeth.  ’May I join your walk if you’re going through the woods?’ Captain Dell was introduced.  ’You want my opinion on your deal?  Well, I’m an old forester, and I’ll give it you with pleasure.  I used to shoot here, year after year, with the Squire, in our young days—­isn’t that so, Mannering?  I know this bit of country by heart, and I think I could help you to bag a few more ash.’

Elizabeth’s blue eyes appealed with all proper deference to the Squire.

‘Won’t you come?’

He shook his head.

’I’m tired of timber.  Do what you like.  I’ll sit here and read till you come back.’

Sir Henry’s shrug was perceptible, but he held his peace, and the three walked away.  The Squire, finding a seat on a fallen tree, took a book out of his pocket and pretended to read it.