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Updated: May 29, 2025
Your success, of course, is great, Doctor Isaacson. Indeed, I wonder you are able to take a holiday. I wonder the ladies will let you go." He smiled, and touched his moustache affectionately. "Why the ladies, especially?" "I understood your practice lay chiefly among the neurotic smart women of London." "No." Isaacson's voice echoed the dryness of Doctor Hartley's. "I'm sorry." "May I ask why?"
"Clever oh, yes, she is. She was very well known, wasn't she, once in a certain way?" "As a beauty yes." Isaacson's tone of voice was scarcely encouraging, and the other relapsed into silence and continued to fidget.
His youth was very apparent at this moment, pushing up into view through his indecision. Every scrap of Isaacson's anger against him had now entirely vanished. "Good-bye!" Mrs. Armine moved her head slightly, settling it against a large cushion. She sighed. Isaacson walked slowly towards the companion. As the Loulia was a very large dahabeeyah, the upper deck was long.
No letter had been received from her. The question in Isaacson's mind was, would she come back? If he spoke and she never returned, he would have stabbed his friend to the heart for no reason. But if she did return and he had not spoken? He was the prey of doubt, of contending instincts. He did not know what to do.
Why had Nigel written just now? Why had he drawn Isaacson's attention to them and their lives just now? It was almost as if and then she pulled herself up sharply. She was not going to be a superstitious fool. It was, of course, perfectly natural for Nigel to write to his friend.
And he surely grasped that meaning, which he had wondered about before. Yet Nigel said nothing. And all this time he had been away from Mrs. Chepstow. Such an absence was strange, and seemed unlike him, quite foreign to his enthusiastic temperament, if Isaacson's surmise was correct. But perhaps it was not correct.
His friend had seemed embarrassed, had certainly been embarrassed. But that might have been caused by something in his, Isaacson's, look or manner. Though Nigel was enthusiastic and determined, he was not insensitive to what was passing in the mind of one he admired and liked. He perhaps felt Isaacson's want of sympathy, even direct hostility.
"I'll tell you when I want to go. You needn't keep asking me questions." The dragoman was getting terribly on Isaacson's nerves. For a moment Isaacson thought of dismissing him there and then, paying him handsomely and sending him ashore now, on the instant. The impulse was strong, but he resisted it. The fellow might possibly be useful. Isaacson looked at him meditatively and searchingly.
"Will know?" said Hartley. Under the attack of Isaacson's new manner his self-possession seemed slightly less assured. "I shall be in Assouan and Cairo presently," said Isaacson. Mrs. Armine yawned and pulled at the chair. Her face twitched under her veil. She looked almost terribly alive, as if indeed her mind were in a state of ferment.
Derringham, who was Doctor Isaacson's companion, as they found their places at the long table. "Who is the man whom she has just scolded so vivaciously? I know his face quite well." "One of the best fellows in the world Nigel Armine. I have not seen him till to-night since last October. He has been out in Egypt."
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