I am going back to Beatrice with gold in my hands and gold in my brain! All for her.

But is she not worth it?
Look!" He thrust the second portrait into McTee's hands.

It showed a rather thin-faced girl with abnormally large eyes and a rather pathetic smile.
It was an appealing face rather than a pretty one.
"Beautiful!" said McTee with forced enthusiasm.
"Yes, beautiful! A little pinched, perhaps, but she'll fill out as she grows older.

And those are her grandmother's eyes! Aye!" He took the photograph and touched it lightly.
His voice grew lower, and the roughness was plainly a tremolo now: "The doctors say she's sick, a little sick, quite sick, in fact.

Twice every day I make them send me wireless reports of her condition.