“And you heard?”

The man was leaning on the desk with one hand supporting his head.  Not one shadow of condemnation or resentment was permitted in voice or look.  And the girl was completely disarmed.  But her smile died out and a swift apprehension, that had no relation to herself, replaced it.  In a moment her mind had gone back to the declaration of war which was to involve the two enterprises.

“Yes.  He told me.”

“And—?”

“Oh, it’s all wrong.  It’s all foolish, and wrong, and just terrible,” she broke in impulsively.  Then she became calmly thoughtful, and her even brows drew together in an effort to straighten out the things she wanted to say.  She shook her head.  “I’m sure he can be handled,” she went on deliberately.  “Oh, yes.  In spite of the things they say of him.”

“What’s that?”

“Why he’s as ready to fight as to laugh.”

“Who says that?”

“That’s the way they speak of him.”

“Who speaks that way?”

Nancy laughed.

“It was just a queer sort of missionary who told me.  I met him when I was at Arden Laval’s camp.  A man they call Father Adam.”

Peterman nodded.

“And you guess he can be handled?”

“I think so.”  Nancy spread out her hands.  “Oh, it’s not for me to talk this way to you, Mr. Peterman, but—­but—­”

“Go on.”  The man was patiently reassuring as the girl hesitated.  “It’s good to hear you talk.  And then it was you who got him to listen to our proposal at all.”

The compliment had prompt effect.  The girl’s cheeks flushed, and a light of something approaching delight shone in the hazel depths of her eyes.

“I don’t know,” she cried.  “But it seems to me he’s sort of reasonable.  He’s kind of full of ideals and that sort of notion.  He’s out for a big purpose and all that.  But I don’t believe he’d turn down any business arrangement that would hand him the thing he wants—­”

“Business arrangement?” Peterman sat up.  The laugh accompanying his words was full of amiable derision.  He shook his head.  “If he won’t sell he’s got to be smashed.  That’s the only business arrangement that suits us.  We’re far too big for compromise.  No, my dear.  He won’t sell.  He asked to buy us.  He—­this darn fool man from Sachigo.  He thinks to buy the Skandinavia like he’s buying up all the mills he can lay hands on.  But he bit off a chunk when he handed that stuff to me.  He’s as ready to fight as to laugh.  Well, I guess he’s going to get all the fight he needs.  He’ll get it plenty.”

“Then you mean to—­smash him?”

“Just as sure as it’s started to snow right now,” the man exclaimed, pointing at the window.

Nancy’s gaze followed the pointing finger.  But it was not the snow she was thinking of.  It was the man whom she beheld staggering under the tremendous weight of the Skandinavia’s might.  She felt pity for him.  And incautiously she permitted Elas Peterman to realise her pity.