“Arthur, sit down.”
The young man seated himself, and the older one drawing a chair to the window, they sat with their backs to the outer office and looked upon the ships.
“I am older than you, Arthur, and I am your friend. What I am going to say to you I have no right to say, except in your entire friendship.”
The young man’s eyes glistened.
“Go on,” he said.
“When I first knew you I knew that you loved Hope Wayne.”
A flush deepened upon Arthur’s face, and his fingers played idly upon the arm of the chair.
“I hoped that Hope Wayne would love you. I was sure that she would. It never occurred to me that she could—could—”
Arthur turned and looked at him.
“Could love any body else,” said Lawrence Newt, as his eyes wandered dreamily among the vessels, as if the canvas were the wings of his memory sailing far away.