But, on the other hand, there was the awkward certainty that he too would lament making a fool of himself.

He by no means liked the thought of relinquishing Madeline; he had not done so, even when heating his brain with contemplation of Cecily Doran.

In what manner could he bring about between her and himself a drama which might result in tears and mutual pardon?
But whilst he pondered this, fate was at work on behalf.

On the day which saw the departure of the Bradshaws, there landed at Naples, from Alexandria, a certain lean, wiry man, with shoulders that stooped slightly, with grizzled head and parchment visage; a man who glanced about him in a keen, anxious way, and had other nervous habits.

Having passed the custom-house, he hired a porter to take his luggage--two leather bags and a heavy chest, all much the worse for wear--to that same hotel at which Mallard was just now staying.