“The gold diggings?” said Trafford, naturally thinking of Esmeralda. “Where?”
“Oh, round about Ballarat,” said Norman, knocking the ash off his cigar, and continuing: “But I didn’t have any luck. It was never my good fortune to find a nugget, though the fellows in the next claim fished them out by the pailful. It’s all luck, and it was dead against me.” He suppressed a sigh, for he thought again of Three Star and Esmeralda.
“It will come, all in good time,” said Trafford. “You’ll make your fortune yet. But we sha’n’t let you go back to look for it yet awhile; you’ll have to stay quiet.”
“Well, I sha’n’t be sorry to,” said Norman. “Now, tell me the news. You’re looking very fit.”
Trafford said he was “all right,” and Norman asked after the duke and Lilias.
“And Ada Lancing,” he said; “how is she?”
Trafford’s face grew grave. “Very well,” he said.
“And as beautiful as ever, I suppose?” said Norman.
Trafford nodded. “Have some more whisky,” he said.
“I’m looking forward to seeing all the folk,” said Norman.