"Good night," Isaacson said.
"Oh! you won't want me again?"
"Not to-night."
"Good night then."
He opened the cabin door and disappeared within, while Isaacson walked on to the first saloon.
He had to wait in it for nearly ten minutes before he heard Mrs. Armine coming. But he would not have minded much waiting an hour. He felt within him the determination of an iron will now completely assured. And strength can wait.
Mrs. Armine came in and shut the door gently behind her.
"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," she said. "I was taking my husband to his cabin. He's going to bed. Where is Doctor Hartley?"
"He's gone to his cabin."
Something in Isaacson's tone seemed suddenly to strike her, and she sent him a look of sharp enquiry.
"Will you sit down for a minute?" he said.
She sat down at once, still keeping her eyes fixed upon him. He sat down near her.
"Doctor Hartley is going away to-morrow morning," Isaacson said.
"He promised to stay several days with us to preside over my husband's convalescence."
"He's going away, and there's no question of convalescence."
"I don't understand you!"
"I'll make myself plain. Your husband is not a convalescent. Your husband is a very sick man."
"No wonder, when he's worried to death, when he's allowed no peace day or night, when he's given one thing on the top of another!"
"May I ask what you mean by that?"
"Didn't you come in last night, and force a sleeping draught upon him?"
"I certainly gave him something to make him sleep."
"And it didn't make him sleep."
"Because before it had had time to take effect he received a great shock," Isaacson said, quietly.
She moved.
"A great shock?"
She stared at him.
"At night, upon water, sound travels a very long way. Have you never noticed that?" he asked her.
Still she stared, and as he looked at her it seemed to him that the bony structure of her face became more salient.
"Last night," he said, as she did not speak, "I thought I heard something strange. I made my men stop rowing for a minute, and I listened. I am not surprised that the sleeping draught I gave your husband had no effect. Under the circumstances it probably even did him harm. But no doctor could have foreseen that."
She moved restlessly. Isaacson got up and stood before her.
"I'm going to speak plainly," he said. "Some time ago, in my consulting-room in London, you told me a good deal of the truth of yourself."
"You think--"
"I know. You told me then that your whole desire was to have a good time. How long are you going to put up with your present life?"