"I caught sight of you just now in St. James's Street in your motor, or I wouldn't have come so late," Nigel said. "Were you going straight to bed? Tell me the truth. If you were, I'll be off."
"I don't think I was. I've been dining out, and should have had to read something. That's why you kept your coat?"
"To demonstrate my good intention. Well!"
He put the coat and hat on a chair.
"Will you have anything?"
"No, thanks."
Nigel sat down in an arm-chair.
"I've seen so little of you, Isaacson. And I'm going away to-morrow."
"You've had enough of it?"
"More than enough."
Isaacson was sitting by a table on which lay a number of books. Now and then he touched one with his long and sallow fingers, lifted its cover, then let it drop mechanically.
"You are coming back in the autumn?"
"For some days, in passing through. I'm going to Egypt again."
"I envy you--I envy you."
As he looked at Nigel's Northern fairness, and thought of his own darkness, it seemed to him that he should be going to the sun, Nigel remaining in the lands where the light is pale. Perhaps a somewhat similar thought occurred to Nigel, for he said: "You ought to go there some day. You'd be in your right place there. Have you ever been?"
"Never. I've often wanted to go."
"Why don't you go?"
Isaacson's mind asked that question, and his Jewishness replied. He made money in London. Every day he spent out of London was a loss of so much money.
"Some day," Nigel continued, "you must take a holiday and see Egypt."
"This winter?" said Isaacson.
He lifted the cover of a book. His dark, shining, almost too intelligent eyes looked at Nigel, and looked away.
"Not this winter," he added, quietly.
"But--why not this winter?"
Nigel spoke with a slight embarrassment.
"I couldn't get away. I have too much work. You'll be in the Fayyum?"
Nigel was staring at the Oriental carpet. His strong hands lay palm downwards on the arms of his chair, pressing them hard.
"I shall go there," he replied.
"And live under the tent? I met a man last night who knows you, an Egyptian army man on leave, Verreker. He told me you were reclaiming quite a lot of desert."
"I should like to reclaim far more than I ever can. It's a good task."
"Hard work?"
"Deuced hard. That's why I like it."
"I know; man's love of taming the proud spirit."
"Is it that? I don't think I bother much about what prompts me to a thing. But--I say, Isaacson, sometimes it seems to me that you have a devilish long sight into things, an almost uncanny long sight."