“You understand,” she replied and took his hand impulsively.  “There is a great gulf I think fixed between us Anglo-Saxons and the Latins.  Their minds move far more swiftly than ours.  They are more hungry to get everything possible out of life.  Doria is a child in many ways; but a delightful, poetical child.  I think England rather chills him; yet he vows there are no rich women in Italy.  He longs for Italy all the same.  I expect he will go home again presently.  He will leave Uncle Ben in the spring—­so he confides to me; but do not whisper it, for my uncle thinks highly of him and would hate to lose him.  He can do everything and anticipates our wishes and whims in the most magical way.”

“Well, I must not keep you any longer.”

“Indeed you are not doing that.  I am very, very glad to see you, Mr. Brendon.  You are going to stop for dinner?  We always dine in the middle of the day.”

“May I?”

“You must.  And tea also.  Come up to Uncle Bendigo now.  I’ll leave you with him for an hour.  Then dinner will be ready.  Giuseppe always joins us.  You won’t mind?”

“The last of the Doria!  I’ve probably never shared a meal with such high company!”

She led him up the flight of stairs to the old sailor’s sanctum.

“Mr. Brendon to see us, Uncle Ben,” she said, and Mr. Redmayne took his eye from the big telescope.

“A blow’s coming,” he announced.  “Wind’s shifted a point to southward.  Dirty weather already in the Channel.”

He shook hands and Jenny disappeared.  Bendigo was pleased to see Brendon, but his interest in his brother had apparently waned.  He avoided the subject of Robert Redmayne, though he revealed other matters in his mind which he approached with a directness that rather astonished the detective.

“I’m a rough bird,” he said, “but I keep my weather peeper open, and I didn’t find it difficult to see when you were here in the summer, that my fine niece took your fancy.  She’s the sort, apparently, that makes men lose their balance a bit.  For my part I never had any use for a woman since I was weaned, and have always mistrusted the creatures, seeing how many of my messmates ran on the rocks over ’em.  But I’m free to grant that Jenny has made my house very comfortable and appears to feel kindly to me.”

“Of course she does, Mr. Redmayne.”

“Hold on till I’ve done.  At this minute I’m in sight of a very vexatious problem; because my right hand—­Giuseppe Doria—­has got his eyes on Jenny; and though he’s priceless as a single man and she’s invaluable as a single woman, if the beggar gets round her and makes her fall in love with him presently, then they’ll be married next year and that’s good-bye to both of ’em!”

Mark found himself a good deal embarrassed by this confidence.

“In your place,” he said, “I should certainly drop Doriaa pretty clear hint.  What is good form in Italy he knows better than we do, or ought to, seeing he’s a gentleman; but you can tell him it’s damned bad form to court a newly made widow—­especially one who loved her husband as your niece did, and who has been separated from him under such tragic circumstances.”