At this thrust Brendon perceived how unconsciously he had displayed an aversion for which no real reason existed—­no reason, at any rate, that he might fairly declare.  And yet he was frank; nor did his response perhaps surprise her, though she appeared to be astonished.

“There’s only one answer, Mrs. Pendean:  I’m jealous of Signor Doria.”

“Jealous!  Why, Mr. Brendon—­what have you to envy him?”

“You would not be likely to guess,” he replied, though in truth Jenny had already done so accurately enough.  “I am sure that if Doria is a gentleman I need not be jealous, seeing what is in my thought cannot be spoken to you by any man for many a long day to come.  And yet to envy him is natural; and when you ask what I envy, I will be honest and tell you.  Fate has given him the privilege of lightening the cruel burden placed upon your shoulders.  His sympathy and intuition you admit have succeeded in so doing.  You will say that no Englishman could have done that exactly in the way he did—­perhaps you are right; but one Englishman regrets from the bottom of his heart that the opportunity was denied him.”

“You have been good and kind, too,” she answered.  “Do not think I am ungrateful.  It was not your fault that you failed to discover Robert Redmayne.  And, after all, what would success have amounted to?  Only the capture of the unfortunate man a few months sooner.  Now, I hope, he will see that there is nothing for it but to give himself up to his brother and trust his fellow creatures to be merciful.”

Thus she led conversation away from Doria and herself, and Mark took the hint.  He no longer doubted that her regard for the Italian might easily ripen into love.  He assured himself that he dreaded this for her, yet suspected all the time that his regret was in reality selfish and inspired by personal disappointment rather than fear for her.

Anon they saw the flash of a ruby and an emerald upon the sea westward and soon heard Redmayne’s motor boat returning.  Less than half an hour had passed, and Brendon hoped that Robert Redmayne had yielded to his brother’s entreaty and was now about to land; but this had not happened.  Only Giuseppe Doria ascended the steps and he had little to tell.

“They didn’t want me yet, so I ran back,” he said.  “All goes well; his cavern lies quite near to us.  The lamp flashed out only two miles away and I ran in; and there was the man standing just outside a small cave on the little beach before it.  He cried out a strange welcome.  He said, ’If any other lands but you, Ben, I will shoot him!’ So the master shouted that he was to fear nothing, and he jumped ashore as soon as our nose touched the sand; then told me to put off instantly.  They went back into the cave together and I am to return within an hour.”

He explained the position of the cave.

“It is above the little beach, revealed at low tide, where cowries are to be found,” he said.  “I took Madonna there on an occasion to gather the little shells for the fancywork the master makes.”