Wingrave shook his head.
“No,” he said, “I know nothing about mines. My visit could not teach me anything one way or the other. I have sent a commission of experts. I am tired of cities and money-making. I want a change.”
Aynesworth looked at him suddenly. The weariness was there indeed—was it his fancy, or was it something more than weariness which shone out of the dark, tired eyes?
BOOK II
“MR. WINGRAVE FROM AMERICA”
“Four years ago tonight,” Aynesworth said, looking round the club smoking room thoughtfully, “we bade you farewell in this same room!”
Lovell, wan and hollow-eyed, his arm in a sling, his once burly frame gaunt and attenuated with disease, nodded.
“And I told you the story,” he remarked, “of—the man who had been my friend.”