His dark eyes were smiling, for his thoughts were streaming along the channel that most appealed.  He was thinking of the beauty of the girl who was about to return to him, and it seemed to him a pity she was so simply honest, so very young in the world as he understood it.  Then her ambition.  It was—­but he was rather glad of her ambition.  Ambition might prove his best friend in the end.  In his philosophy an ambitious woman could have no scruple.  Anyway it seemed to him that ambition pitted against scruple was an easy winner.  He could play on that, and he felt he knew how to play on it, and was in a position to do so.  She had come back to him successful.  He wondered how successful.

He moved from the window and passed over to the desk, where he picked up his ’phone and asked for a number.

“Hullo!  Oh, that Bennetts?  Oh, yes.  This is Peterman—­Elas Peterman speaking.  Did you send that fruit, and the flowers I ordered to the address I gave you?  Yes?  Oh, you did?  They were there before eleven o’clock.  Good.  Thanks—­”

He set the ’phone down and turned away.  But in a moment he was recalled.  It was a message from downstairs.  Nancy McDonald wished to see him.

* * * * *

Peterman was leaning back in his chair.  Nancy was occupying the chair beside the desk which had not known her for several months.

It was a moment of stirring emotions.  For the girl it was that moment to which she had so long looked forward.  To her it seemed she was about to vindicate this man’s confidence in her, and offer him an adequate return such as her gratitude desired to make.  And deep down in her heart, where the flame of ambition steadily burned, she felt she had earned the promised reward, all of it.

The man was concerned with none of these things.  He was not even concerned for the girl’s completed mission.  It was Nancy herself.  It was the charming face with its halo of red hair, and the delightful figure so rounded, so full of warmth and charm, which concerned him.

He had no scruple as he feasted his eyes upon her.  He did nothing to disguise his admiration, and Nancy, full of her news and the thrilling joy of her success, saw nothing of that which a less absorbed woman, a more experienced woman, must unfailingly have observed.

“You’ve a big story for me,” Peterman said, with a light laugh.  “Have you completed an option on—­Sachigo?  You look well.  You’re looking fine.  Travelling in Labrador seems to have done you good.”

Nancy’s smiling eyes were alight with delight.

“Oh, yes,” she said.  “It’s done me good.  But then I’ve had a success I didn’t reckon on.  Maybe it’s made all the difference.  It was a real tough journey.  I’m not sure you’d have seen me back at all if it hadn’t been for Mr. Sternford.”

“How?”

The man’s smiling eyes had changed.  Their dark depths were full of sharp enquiry.  Nancy read only anxiety.