"Didn't he ask you to 'save him,' as he called it, poor, dear fellow?"
"That was the very word!"
"And last night?" said Isaacson, fixing his eyes upon her.
"Last night you startled him to death, rushing in upon him without warning or preparation. Wasn't it a cruel, dangerous thing to do in his condition, Doctor Hartley?"
"Most cruel! Unpardonably so! If anything had occurred you ought to have been held responsible, Doctor Isaacson."
"And then whatever it was you gave him, you forced it on him. And he had a perfectly terrible night in consequence."
"Not in consequence of what I gave him!" Isaacson said.
"It must have been."
"It was certainly not."
"He never had such a night before--never, till you interfered with him, and interrupted Doctor Hartley's treatment."
"Disgraceful!" exclaimed the young doctor. "I never have heard of such conduct. If it were ever to be made public, your medical reputation would be ruined."
"And I shouldn't mind if it was, over that!" said Isaacson.
His fingers no longer crushed the brim of his hat, but held it gently.
"I shouldn't mind if it was. But I think if very great care is not taken with this case, it will not be my medical reputation that will be ruined over it."
As if mechanically Mrs. Armine pulled at the chair which she was holding. She drew it nearer her, and twisted it a little round.
"What do you mean?" said Doctor Hartley.
"Mr. Armine is a well-known man. Almost all the English travellers on the Nile, and most people of any importance in Cairo, know of his illness--have heard about his supposed sunstroke."
"Supposed!" interrupted the young doctor, indignantly. "Supposed!"
"All these people will know the name of the medical man in charge of the case--the medical man who declined a consultation."
"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. Yet there was in her aspect also a sort of half-submerged sluggishness. Despite her vindictive agitation, her purposeful venom, she seemed already partially bound by a cloud of sleep. That she had cast away her power to charm as useless was the greatest tribute that Isaacson had ever had paid to his seeing eyes.
"Really! What has that to do with me? Do you suppose I am attending this case surreptitiously?" said Hartley.
He forced a laugh.