Mark shook his head.

"He is an Italian. He comes from Turin but has worked in England for
some time. He looks to me more Greek than Italian--not modern Greek
but from classical times--the times I used to study as a schoolgirl.
He has a head like a statue."

She called to the boatman.

"Stand out a mile or so, Doria," she said. "I want Mr. Brendon to
see the coast line."

"Aye, aye, ma'am," he answered and altered their course for the open
sea.

He had turned at Jenny Pendean's voice and shown Mark a brown,
bright, clean-shorn face of great beauty. It was of classical
contour, but lacked the soulless perfection of the Greek ideal. The
Italian's black eyes were brilliant and showed intelligence.

"Giuseppe Doria has a wonderful story about himself," continued Mrs.
Pendean. "Uncle Ben tells me that he claims descent from a very
ancient family and is the last of the Dorias of--I forget--some
place near Ventimiglia. My uncle thinks the world of him; but I hope
he is as trustworthy and as honest in character as he is handsome in
person."

"He certainly might be well born. There is distinction, quality, and
breeding about his appearance."