It was very seldom that Isaacson changed colour; but at these words his dark face slowly reddened.
"If you suppose that--that I want to make money--" he began.
"It's always nice, if one takes a holiday, to be able to pay one's expenses. But I know you won't run Nigel in for too much."
Isaacson got up. His instinct was to go, to get away at once from this woman. For a moment he forgot the voice he had heard in the night; he forgot the words it had said. His egoism and his pride spoke, and told him to get away.
She read him. She got up, too, came away from her place near the door, and said, with a smile: "You are going?"
He looked at her. He saw in her eyes the look he had seen in them when he had bade her good-bye at the Savoy after his useless embassy.
"You are going?"
"Yes," he said. "I am! Going to see your husband!"
And before she could speak or move, he was at the door through which Hamza had passed; he had opened it and disappeared, shutting it softly behind him.