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Now, suddenly, Isaacson felt as if he was with an obstinate boy, and any anger he had felt against his companion evaporated. Indeed, he was conscious of a strong sensation of pity, mingled with irony. For a moment he had wronged the young doctor by a doubt, and for that moment he had a wish to make some amends. The man's unconsciousness of it did not concern him.
"I won't play 'Gerontius. It makes you think sad things, dreadful things." "No, play it again. It was on your piano that day I called in London. I shall always associate it with you." The dress rustled. She was getting up. Isaacson hesitated no longer. He went instantly up the bank. When he had reached the top he stood still for a moment. His breath came quickly. Below, the piano sounded.
Her perpetual silent hostility was like an emanation that insensibly affected her husband. Now that was withdrawn to a distance, he reverted instinctively towards not yet to the old relation with his friend. He longed to get rid of all the difficulty between them, and this could only be done by making Isaacson understand Ruby more as he understood her.
Nigel looked at Isaacson in silence for what seemed to Isaacson a long time minutes. Then his face slowly flushed, was suffused with blood up to his forehead. It seemed to swell, as if there was a pressure from within outwards. Then the blood retreated, leaving behind it a sort of dark pallor, and the eyes looked sunken in their sockets. "You you dare to think you dare to to say ?" he stammered.
They pierced her defences, but to-day did not permit her, in return, to pierce his, to penetrate, even a little way, into his territory of thought, of feeling. She remembered the eyes of Meyer Isaacson.
Armine was dressed in black, and on her cheeks were two patches of vivid red, of red that was artificial and not well put on. Isaacson believed that she had rushed from the piano to make up her face when she had learnt of his coming. She looked towards him with hard interrogation, at the same time lifting her hand. "Hush, please!" she said, in a low voice. "He doesn't know you are here.
Then, leaning forward a little with one arm on the table, he said: "Does my wife know what it is?" "I've never told her," Isaacson answered. "Well, but does she know?" The voice that asked was almost suspicious. And the eyes that regarded Isaacson were now suspicious, too. "How can I tell? She told me she supposed it to be a sunstroke." "That was Hartley's nonsense.
He felt as if from the first moment when she had seen him she had hated him. She had got the better of him, and she knew it. Possibly now, because of that knowledge, she would like him better. She had won out. Or had she, now that Lord Harwich had an heir? As he sat there with Nigel's letter before him, a keen, an almost intense curiosity was alive in Meyer Isaacson.
Nigel and his wife were together in the dimness, with the lighted room beyond them. When the light was turned out, the pariah dog got up stealthily and crept much nearer to the Loulia. Its secret movement, observed by Isaacson, made an unpleasant impression upon him. He drew a parallel between it and himself, and felt himself to be a pariah, because of what he was doing.
Then I never saw him! Do you mean to say there was some one hidden on board? What are you talking about, Isaacson?" He was becoming greatly, almost angrily excited. "Armine, the compensation I want is this. I don't want to clear out and leave you here in Egypt; I want to take you away with me." "Take me away? Where to?" "Anywhere back to England."
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