He told himself it was all wrong.  This wonderful child should never have been sent on such a journey, on such an errand.  She was fit only for the shelter of a happy home life, protection from every roughness, every taint with which the sordid world of commerce could besmirch her.  His chivalry was stirred to its depths, and the wrong of it all, as he saw it, only the more surely deepened his purpose for his dealings with an unscrupulous rival who could commit so egregious an outrage.

Bull Sternford’s existence, until now had always been a joyous heart-whole striving which had no more in it than the calmly conceived ideals of a heart undisturbed by sexual emotions.  Now—­now that had been completely changed.  Perhaps he was not yet wholly aware of the thing that had come to him.  He saw a woman, a perfect creature who had come to him out of the forest world in which his whole life was bound up, and a passionate excitement had taken possession of him.  There could be no denial of that.  But so far the full measure of his feelings had not revealed itself.  All he wanted was to think of nothing and nobody just now, but this girl who had stirred him so deeply.  So he stretched himself out on the well-sprung couch and yielded to the delight of it all.

But the hour he had been free to dispose of thus was swiftly used up with his pleasant dreaming.  And it was with a feeling of real irritation that he finally flung away his cigar and bestirred himself.  His irritation did not last long, however, and his consolation was found in the fact that Elas Peterman was awaiting him, and Elas Peterman was the man who had so outrageously offended against his ideas of chivalry.

He stood up and brushed the fallen cigar ash from his clothing.  His one desire now was to get through with the business once and for all, to do the thing that should leave Nancy McDonald with the reward of her labours.  Yes, he wanted to do that.  Afterwards—­well, he must leave the “afterwards” to itself.

He hurried away in search of his heavy winter overcoat.

* * * * *

Elas Peterman looked up as the door opened to admit his visitor.  His first impression startled him not a little.

It was the first time he had encountered the man from Sachigo.

Bull moved into the room with that large ease which big men so often display.  And he paused and frankly gripped the carefully manicured hand Peterman held out to him.

“I’m real glad to meet you, Mr. Peterman,” he said quietly.  Then he dropped into the chair set for him, while his eyes responded unsmilingly to the measuring gaze of the other.

“It’s queer we’ve never met before,” Bull said, leaning back in his chair.

Peterman laughed.  He pushed a large box of cigars close to the visitor’s hand.

“It’s mostly that way with the high command in—­war,” he said easily.  “The opposing generals don’t meet except at the—­peace table.  Those are Bolivars.  Try one?”