Under a small but dense moustache his lips were thick and rather
pouting. His chin, thrust slightly forward in a manner almost
aggressive, showed the dusk of close-shaven hair. The tint of his skin,
though dark, was clear--had even something of delicacy. His hands,
broad, brown, and muscular, had very strong-looking fingers which
narrowed slightly at the tips. His eyes were large and black, were set
in his head with an almost singular straightness, and were surmounted by
brows which, depressed towards the nose, sloped upwards towards the
temples. These brows gave to the eyes beneath them, even to the whole
face, a curiously distinctive look of open resolution, which was
seizing, and attractive or unattractive according to the temperament of
the beholder.

He took up the _carte du jour_, studied it at length and with obvious
care, then gave an order in excellent French, which the steward hastened
away to carry out. This done, he twisted his moustaches and looked
calmly at his companions, not curiously, but rather as if he regarded
them with a polite indifference, and merely because they were near him.
Mrs. Armine seemed quite unaware of his scrutiny, but Nigel spoke to him
almost immediately, making some remark about the ship in English. The
stranger answered in the same language, but with a strong foreign
accent. He seemed quite willing to talk. He apologized for interrupting
their tête-à-tête, but said he had no choice, as the saloon was
completely full. They declared they were quite ready for company, Nigel
with his usual sympathetic geniality, Mrs. Armine with a sort of
graceful formality beneath which--or so her husband fancied--there was
just a suspicion of reluctance. He guessed that she would have much
preferred a private table, but when he said so to her, as they were
taking their coffee on deck, she answered: