But Mr.Blood was not of those who argue.

As I have said, he was a self-sufficient man.
He closed the window, drew the curtains, and turned to the pleasant, candle-lighted room, and the table on which Mrs.Barlow, his housekeeper, was in the very act of spreading supper.

To her, however, he spoke aloud his thought.
"It's out of favour I am with the vinegary virgins over the way." He had a pleasant, vibrant voice, whose metallic ring was softened and muted by the Irish accent which in all his wanderings he had never lost.
It was a voice that could woo seductively and caressingly, or command in such a way as to compel obedience.

Indeed, the man's whole nature was in that voice of his.

For the rest of him, he was tall and spare, swarthy of tint as a gipsy, with eyes that were startlingly blue in that dark face and under those level black brows.