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"We shall see as to that. Man proposes, God disposes. There is a god
called Cupid, Mr. Brendon, who overturns our plans as yonder
plough-share overturns the secret homes of beetle and worm."
Mark's pulses quickened. He guessed to what Doria possibly referred
and felt concern but no surprise. The other continued.
"Ambition may succumb before beauty. Ancestral castles may crumble
before the tide of love, as a child's sand building before the sea.
Too true!"
Doria sighed and looked at Brendon closely. The Italian stood in a
tight-fitting jersey of brown wool, a very picturesque figure
against his dark background. The other had nothing to say and
prepared to descend. He guessed what had happened and was concerned
rather with Jenny Pendean than the romantic personality before him.
But that the stranger could still be here, exiled in this lonely
spot, told him quite as much as the man's words. He was not chained
to "Crow's Nest" with his great ambitions in abeyance for nothing.
Mark, however, pretended to miss the significance of Giuseppe's
confession.


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