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Updated: May 29, 2025
Isaacson's thought was: "What must be the state of the mind which has thus suddenly triumphed over a hitherto triumphant body?" And he felt like a man who looks down into a gulf, and who sees nothing, but hears movements and murmurs of horror and despair. Mrs. Armine came straight to Isaacson. Her eyes, fastened upon him, seemed to defy him to see the change in her.
If you go, she won't bore you. She's a clever woman, and cares for things you care for. Will you look in on her now and then?" Isaacson lifted his hand from the book. "I will call upon her," he said. "Good!" "But are you sure she wishes it?" "Quite sure for she told me so." The simplicity of this answer made Isaacson's mind smile and something else in him sigh.
Would she awaken the flesh of this man as well as the spirit, and through spirit and flesh would she attain his soul? And then? Isaacson's sincerity was sorely tested by his friendship at this period. Original though he was, and full of the sensitive nature's distaste for marching with the mob, he was ranged with the mob against Nigel in this affair of Mrs. Chepstow.
Doctor Meyer Isaacson's day's work was over at six, or was supposed to be over. Often, however, he gave a patient more than the fixed half-hour, and so prolonged his labours. But no one was admitted to his house for consultation after the patient whose name was against the time of five-thirty. And so Mrs. Chepstow would be the last patient he would see that day.
She felt dull, unexcited, almost sleepy, and as one who is dropping off to sleep sometimes aimlessly reiterates some thought, apparently unconnected with any other thought, unlinked with any habit of the mind, she found herself, in imagination, with dull eyes, seeing the Arabic characters above the doorway of the Loulia, dully and silently repeating the words Baroudi had chosen as the motto of the boat in which this thing Isaacson's departure to Nigel had happened: "The fate of every man have we bound about his neck."
Two or three times Nigel had asked for him. She had said at first that he had gone to see his family. Afterwards she had said that he stayed away because he was offended at not being allowed any more to wait upon his master: "Doctor Isaacson's orders, you know!" And Nigel had answered nothing. Where was Hamza? Mrs. Armine had asked Ibrahim.
Something in Isaacson's tone seemed suddenly to strike her, and she sent him a look of sharp enquiry. "Will you sit down for a minute?" he said. She sat down at once, still keeping her eyes fixed upon him. He sat down near her. "Doctor Hartley is going away to-morrow morning," Isaacson said. "He promised to stay several days with us to preside over my husband's convalescence."
The long quiet of her very dull life in London while she had known Nigel, followed by her comparative repose in the splendid climate of Egypt, had done wonders for her appearance. Certainly to-night, despite any ravages made by her injudicious yielding to anger, she looked years younger than she had looked in Isaacson's consulting-room.
Armine had taken as her boudoir. It was lit up. The door on the far side, beyond the dining-room, was shut. And Mrs. Armine was standing by the writing-table, holding Isaacson's card in her hand. As soon as Isaacson had crossed the threshold, Hamza went out and shut the door gently. Mrs.
Armine's going, instead of breaking down, had consolidated for the moment the reserve between them. But Isaacson's inner joyousness, however carefully concealed, made its influence felt, as joy will. Without quite knowing why, Nigel presently began to thaw.
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