Elizabeth took no notice. She resumed-- 'And Sir Henry went into the figures of that contract with Captain Dell. He thinks the Captain has done very well, and that the prices are very fair--very good, in fact.' 'All the same, I don't mean to accept their blessed contract.' 'Oh, but I thought it was settled!' cried Elizabeth in distress. She sat down on a dry stump a little way off, and the Squire actually enjoyed the sight of her discomfiture. 'Why on earth should I allow these people, not only to make a hideous mess of my woods, and murder my trees, but to take three years--_three years_--over the disgusting business, before they get it all done and clear up the mess? One year is the utmost I will allow.' Elizabeth looked consternation. 'But think of the labour difficulties,' she pleaded. 'The contractor can't get the men. Of course, he _wants_ to cut and move the trees as soon as he can, so as to get his money back.' 'That's his affair,' said the Squire obstinately. 'I want to get my woods in a decent state again, so that I mayn't be for ever reminded that I sold them--betrayed them--for filthy lucre.' 'No!' said Elizabeth firmly, her colour rising, 'for the Army!' The Squire shrugged his shoulders. 'So they say. Meanwhile the timber-man makes an unholy profit.' There was silence for a moment, then Elizabeth said, 'Do you really mean to stick to that condition?' 'I should be glad if Dell would see to it.' 'Then'--said Elizabeth slowly--'the contract will drop. I understand they cannot possibly pledge themselves to removal within the time named.' 'Well, there are other timber-merchants.' 'The difficulty of labour is the same for everybody. And Captain Dell thinks no one else would give the price--certainly not the Government. You will remember that some of the money was to be spent immediately.' Her tone was cold and restrained, but he thought it trembled a little. 'I know,' he interrupted, 'on cottages and the hospital. Money oozes away at every pore! I shall be a bare beggar after the war. Have you the contract there? Or did Dell take it?' Elizabeth drew a roll of blue paper out of her pocket. Her indignation made her speechless. All the endless negotiations, Captain Dell's work, her work--to go for nothing! What was the use of trying to serve--to work with such a man? The Squire took the roll from her and searched his pockets for a fountain-pen. 'I will make some notes on it now for Dell's guidance. I might forget it to-night.' Elizabeth said nothing. He turned away, spread out the papers on the smooth trunk of the fallen tree, and began to write.