much as that unfortunate affair. I sincerely trust that you will do
your best now to make up for lost time. You are still young, and you
are rich. Let us leave business alone now, for the moment. What can I
do for you as a friend, if you will allow me to call you so?"

Wingrave turned slightly in his chair. In his altered position, a ray
of sunshine fell for the first time upon his gaunt but striking face.
Lined and hardened, as though by exposure and want of personal care,
there was also a lack of sensibility, an almost animal callousness, on
the coldly lit eyes and unflinching mouth, which readily suggested
some terrible and recent experience--something potent enough to have
dried up the human nature out of the man and left him soulless. His
clothes had the impress of the ready-made, although he wore them with
a distinction which was obviously inherent; and notwithstanding the
fact that he seemed to have been writing, he wore gloves.

"I am much obliged to you, Rocke," he said. "Let me repeat your
question. What is there that you can do for me?"

Mr. Rocke was apparently a little nonplussed. The absolute
imperturbability of the man who had once been his friend was
disconcerting.

"Well," he said, "the governor sent me instead of coming himself,
because he thought that I might be more useful to you. London changes
so quickly--you would hardly know your way about now. I should like
you to come and dine with me tonight, and I'll take you round anywhere
you care to go; and then if you don't want to go back to your old
tradespeople, I could take you to my tailor and bookmaker."