When Isaacson had spoken to Mrs. Armine of Hamza praying, a strange look
had gone over her face. It was like a look of horror. Isaacson
remembered it very well. Why should she shrink in horror from Hamza's
prayers?
Isaacson needed repose. But he could not rest yet. To sleep one must
cease from thinking, and one must cease from waiting.
He considered Doctor Hartley.
He was accustomed in his consulting-room to read character, temperament,
shrewdly, to probe for more than mere bodily symptoms. Would Doctor
Hartley act out of his fear or out of his subjection to women? In
leaving the _Loulia_ Isaacson had really trusted him to act out of his
fear. But suppose Isaacson had misjudged him! Suppose Mrs. Armine again
used her influence, and Hartley succumbed and obeyed!
In that case, Isaacson resolved that he must act up to his intuition. If
it were wrong, the consequences to himself would be very
disagreeable--might almost be disastrous. If he were wrong, Mrs. Armine
would certainly take care that he was thoroughly punished. There was in
her an inflexible want of heart and of common humanity that made her
really a dangerous woman, or a potentially dangerous woman. But he must
take the risk. Although a man who went cautiously where his own
interests were concerned, Isaacson was ready to take the risk. He had
not taken it yet, for caution had been at his elbow, telling him to
exhaust all possible means of obtaining what he wanted, and what he
meant to have in a reasonable way and without any scandal. He had borne
with a calculated misunderstanding, with cool impertinence, even with
insult. But one thing he would not bear. He would not bear to be a
second time worsted by Mrs. Armine. He would not bear to be driven away.
If Hartley was governed by fear, well and good. If not, Isaacson would
stand a scene, provoke a scandal, even defy Nigel for his own sake.
Would that be necessary?
Well, he would soon know. He would know that night. Hartley had promised
to summon him in consultation that night.
"Meanwhile I simply must rest."
He spoke to himself as a doctor. And at last he went below, lay down in
his cabin with the wooden shutters drawn over the windows, and closed
his eyes. He had little hope of sleep. But sleep presently came. When he
woke, he heard voices quite near him. They seemed to come from the
water. He lay still and listened. They were natives' voices talking
violently. He began to get up. As he put his feet to the floor, he heard
a knock.
"Come in!" he called.
Hassan put in his head.
"The gentleman him here!"
"What gentleman? Not Doctor Hartley?"
"The sick gentleman."
Nigel! Was it possible? Isaacson sprang up and hurried on deck. There
was a boat from the _Loulia_ alongside, and on the upper deck was Doctor
Hartley walking restlessly about. He heard Isaacson and turned sharply.
"You've come to fetch me?" said Isaacson.
As he came up, he had noticed that already the sun had set. He had slept
for a long time.
"There's been a--a most unpleasant--a most distressing scene!" Hartley
said.
"Why, with whom?"
"With her--Mrs. Armine. What on earth have you done to set her against
you? She--she--really, it amounts to absolute hatred. Have you ever done
her any serious wrong?"
"Never!"
"I--I really think she must be hysterical. There's--there's the greatest
change in her."
He paused. Then, very abruptly, he said:
"Have you any idea how old she is?"
"I only know that she isn't thirty-eight," said Isaacson.
"Isn't thirty-eight!"
"She is older than that. She once told me so--in an indirect way."
Hartley looked at him with sudden suspicion.
"Then you've--you and she have known each other very well?"
"Never!"
"Till now I imagined her about thirty, thirty-two perhaps, something
like that."
"Till now?"
"Yes. She--to-day she looks suddenly almost like a--well--a middle-aged
woman. I never saw such a change."
It seemed that the young man was seriously perturbed by the announced
transformation.
"Sit down, won't you?" said Isaacson.
"No, thanks. I--"
He went to the rail. Isaacson followed him.
"Our talk quite decided me," Hartley said, "to call you in to-night. I
felt it was necessary. I felt I owed it to myself as a--if I may say
so--a rising medical man."
"I think you did."
"When she woke I told her so. But I'm sorry to say she didn't take my
view. We had a long talk. It really was most trying, most disagreeable.
But she was not herself. She knew it. She said it was my fault--that I
ought not to have given her that veronal. Certainly she did look awful.
D'you know"--he turned round to Isaacson, and there was in his face an
expression almost of awe--"it was really like seeing a woman become
suddenly old before one's very eyes. And--and I had thought she was
quite--comparatively--young!"
"And the result of your conversation?"
"At first things were not so bad. I agreed--I thought it was only
reasonable--to wait till Mr. Armine woke up and to see how he was then.
He slept for some time longer, and we sat there waiting. She--I must
say--she has charm."
Even in the midst of his anxiety, of his nervous tension, Isaacson could
scarcely help smiling. He could almost see Bella Donna fighting the
young man's dawning resolution with every weapon she had.
"Indeed she has!" he assented, without a touch of irony.
"Ah! Any man must feel it. At the same time, really she is a wreck now."
Isaacson's almost feminine intuition had evidently not betrayed him.
That altered face had had a great deal to do with Doctor Hartley's
definite resolve to have a consultation.
"Poor woman!" he added. "Upon my soul, I can't help pitying her. She
knows it, too. But I expect they always do."
"Probably. But you've come then to take me to the _Loulia_?"
"I told her I really must insist."
"How did you find the patient when he woke?"
"Well, I must say I didn't like the look of him at all.'"
"No? Did he seem worse?"
"I really--I really hardly know. But I told her he was much worse."
"Why?"
"Why? Because I was determined not to go on with the case alone, for
fear something should happen. She denied it. She declared he was much
better--stronger. He agreed with her, I must confess; said he felt more
himself, and all that. But--but she seemed rather putting the words into
his mouth, I fancied. I may have been wrong, but still--the fact is I'm
positively upset by all that's happened."
He grasped the rail with both hands. Evidently he had only held his own
against Bella Donna at the expense of his nervous system.
"When we left him, I told her I must get you in. She was furious, said
she wouldn't have you, that you had always been against her, that you
had nearly prevented her marriage with Mr. Armine, that you had maligned
her all over London."
"Did she say any of this before her husband?"
"Not all that. No. We were in the first saloon. But I thought the men
would have heard her. She really lost her head. She was distinctly
hysterical. It was a most awkward position for me. But--but I was
resolved to dominate her."
"And you did?"
"Well--I--I stuck to my point. I said I must and would have another
opinion."
"Another?"
"Yours, of course. There's nobody else to be got at immediately. And
after what you--what we both said and thought this afternoon, I won't
wait till another doctor can be fetched from a distance."
"Well start at once," said Isaacson, in a practical voice.
"Yes."
But the assent was very hesitating, and Hartley made no movement.
Isaacson looked at him with sharply questioning eyes.
"I--I wish I was out of the case altogether," said the young man,
weakly. "After this afternoon's row I seem to have lost all heart. I
never have had such an unpleasant scene with any woman before. It makes
the position extremely difficult. I don't know how she will receive us;
I really don't. She never agreed to my proposition, and I left her
looking dreadful."
"Mrs. Armine hates me. It's a pity. But I've got to think of the sick
man. And so have you. Look here, Doctor Hartley, you and I have got over
our little disagreement of this morning, and I hope we can be
colleagues."
"I wish nothing better indeed," said the young man, earnestly.
"We'll go back to the _Loulia_. We'll see the patient. We'll have our
consultation. And then if you still wish to get out of the case--"
"Really, I think I'd much rather. I've got friends waiting for me at
Assouan."
"And I've got nobody waiting for me. Suppose the patient agrees, and you
continue in the same mind, I'm willing to relieve you of all
responsibility and take the whole thing into my own hands. And if at any
time you come to London--"
"I may be coming this summer."
"Then I think I can be of use to you there. Shall we go?"
This time Doctor Hartley did move. A weight seemed lifted from his
shoulders, and he went, almost with alacrity, towards the boat.
"After all, you are much my senior," he said, as they were getting in,
"besides being an intimate friend of the patient. I don't think it would
seem unnatural to any one."
"The most natural thing in the world!" said Isaacson, calmly. "Yes,
Hassan, you can come with us. Come in the other boat. I may want you to
do something for me later on."
The two doctors did not talk much as they were rowed towards the
_Loulia_. Both were preoccupied. As they drew near to her, however,
Doctor Hartley began to fidget. His bodily restlessness betrayed his
mental uneasiness.
"I do hope she'll be reasonable," he said at length.
"I think she will."
"What makes you?"
"She's a decidedly clever woman."
"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. But when they were close
to the _Loulia_, almost under the blue light that shone at her
mast-head, he said, in a low and secretive voice:
"I think you had better take the lead, as you are my senior. It will
appear more natural."
"Very well. But I don't want to seem to--"
"No, no! Don't mind about me! I shall perfectly understand. I have
chosen to call you in. That shows I am not satisfied with the way the
case is going."
The felucca touched the side of the _Loulia_. Ibrahim appeared. He
smiled when he saw them, smiled still more when he perceived beyond them
the second boat with Hassan. Isaacson stepped on board first. Hartley
followed him without much alacrity.
"I want to see Mrs. Armine," Isaacson said to Ibrahim. Ibrahim went
towards the steps.
"Do you happen to know what that Arabic writing means?" Isaacson asked
of Hartley, as they were about to pass under the motto of the _Loulia_.
"That--yes; I asked. It's from the Koran."
"Yes?"
"It means--the fate of every man have we bound about his neck."
"Ah! Rather fatalistic! Does it appeal to you?"
"I don't know. I haven't thought about it. I wonder how she'll receive
us!"
"It will be all right," Isaacson said with cheerful confidence.
But he was wondering too.
The first saloon was empty. Ibrahim left them in it, and went through
the doorway beyond to the after part of the vessel. Isaacson sat down on
the divan, but Hartley moved about. His present anxiety was in
proportion to his past admiration of Mrs. Armine. He had adored her
enough once to be very much afraid of her now.
"I do--I must say I hope she won't make a scene," he said.
"Oh, no."
"Yes, but you didn't see her this afternoon."
"She was upset. Some people can't endure daytime sleep. She's had time
now to recover."
But Hartley did not seem to be reassured. He kept looking furtively
towards the door by which Ibrahim had vanished. In about five minutes it
was opened again by Ibrahim. He stood aside, slightly bending and
looking on the floor, and Mrs. Armine came in, dressed in a sort of
elaborate tea-gown, grey in colour, with silver embroideries. She was
carefully made up, but not made up pale. Her cheeks were delicately
flushed with colour. Her lips were red. Her shining hair was arranged to
show the beautiful shape of her head as clearly as possible and to leave
her lovely neck quite bare. Everything that could be done to render her
attractive had been very deftly done. Nevertheless, even Isaacson, who
had seen the change in her that afternoon, and had been prepared for
further change in her by Hartley, was surprised by the alteration a few
hours had made in her appearance.
Middle-age, with its subtle indications of what old age will be, had
laid its hands upon her, had suddenly and firmly grasped her. As before,
since she had been in Egypt, she had appeared to most people very much
younger than she really was, so now she appeared older, decisively
older, than she actually was. When Isaacson had looked at her in his
consulting-room he had thought her not young, nor old, nor definitely
middle-aged. Now he realized exactly what she would be some day as a
painted and powdered old woman, striving by means of clever corsets, a
perfect wig, and an ingenious complexion to simulate that least
artificial of all things, youth. The outlines of the face were sharper,
cruder than before; the nose and chin looked more pointed, the
cheek-bones much more salient. The mouth seemed to have suddenly "given
in" to the thing it had hitherto successfully striven against. And the
eyes burnt with a fire that called the attention to the dark night
slowly but certainly coming to close about this woman, and to withdraw
her beauty into its blackness.
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. She smiled and said:
"So you've come again! It's very good of you. Nigel is awake now."
She looked towards Doctor Hartley.
"I hope Doctor Isaacson will be able to reassure you," she said. "You
frightened me this afternoon. I don't think you quite realized what it
is to a woman to have sprung upon her so abruptly such an alarming view
of an invalid's condition."
"But I didn't at all mean--" began the young doctor in agitation.
"I don't know what you meant," she interrupted, "but you alarmed me
dreadfully. Well, are you going to see my husband together?"
"Yes, we must do that," said Isaacson.
He was slightly surprised by her total lack of all further opposition to
the consultation, although he had almost prophesied it to Hartley.
Perhaps he had prophesied to reassure himself, for now he was conscious
of a certain rather vague sense of doubt and of uneasiness, such as
comes upon a man who, without actually suspecting an ambush, wonders
whether, perhaps, he is near one.
"I dare say you would rather I was not present at your consultation?"
said Mrs. Armine.
"It isn't usual for any one to be present except the doctors taking part
in it," said Isaacson.
"The consultation comes after the visit to the patient," she said; "and
of course I'll leave you alone for that. I should prefer to leave you
alone while you are examining my husband, too, but I'm sorry to say he
insists on my being there."
Isaacson was no longer in doubt about an ambush. She had prepared one
while she had been left alone with the sick man. Hartley having
unexpectedly escaped from the magic circle of her influence, she had
devoted herself to making it invulnerable about her husband.
Nevertheless, he meant to break in at whatever cost.
"We don't want to oppose or irritate the patient, I'm sure," he said.
He looked towards Doctor Hartley.
"No, no, certainly not!" the young man assented, hastily.
"Very well, then!" said Mrs. Armine.
Her brows went down and her mouth contracted for an instant. Then she
moistened her painted lips with the tip of her tongue and turned towards
the door.
"I'll go first to tell him you are coming," she said.
She went out into the passage.