“I don’t believe you and I could ever get diametrically different impressions of a person,” said Armine, looking at Mrs. Chepstow; “and to-night I can’t bother myself about the rest of the world.”

“Don’t you think hearts can be stupid as well as heads?  I do.  I think people can be muddle-hearted as well as muddle-headed.”

As the Doctor spoke, it seemed to flash upon him that he was passing a judgment upon his friend—­this man whom he admired, whom he almost loved.

“I should always trust my heart,” said Armine.  “But I very often mistrust my head.  Won’t you have any more champagne?”

“No, thank you.”

“What do you say to our joining Mrs. Chepstow?  It must be awfully dull for her, supping all alone.  We might go and speak to her.  If she doesn’t ask us to sit down, we can go into the hall and have a cigar.”

“Very well.”

There was neither alacrity nor reluctance in Meyer Isaacson’s voice, but if there had been, Armine would probably not have noticed it.  When he was intent on a thing, he saw little but that one thing.  Now he paid the bill, tipped the waiter, and got up.

“Come along,” he said, “and I will introduce you.”

He put his hand for an instant on his friend’s arm.

“Clear your mind of prejudice, Isaacson,” he said, in a low voice.  “You are too good and too clever to be one of the prejudiced crowd.  Let your first impression be a true one.”

As the doctor went with his friend to Mrs. Chepstow’s table, he did not tell him that first impression had been already formed in the consulting-room of the house in Cleveland Square.

V

“Mrs. Chepstow!”

At the sound of Nigel Armine’s voice Mrs. Chepstow started slightly, like a person recalled abruptly from a reverie, looked up, and smiled.

“You are here!  I’m all alone.  But I was hungry, so I had to brave the rabble.”

“I want to introduce a friend to you.  May I?”

“Of course.”

Armine moved, and Doctor Isaacson stood by Mrs. Chepstow.

“Doctor Meyer Isaacson, Mrs. Chepstow.”

The Doctor scarcely knew whether he had expected Mrs. Chepstow to recognize him, or whether he had anticipated what actually happened—­her slight bow and murmured “I’m delighted to meet you.”  But he did know that he was not really surprised at her treatment of him as an entire stranger.  And he was glad that he had said nothing to Armine of her visit to Cleveland Square.

“Aren’t you going to sit down and talk to me for a little?” Mrs. Chepstow said.  “I’m all alone and horribly dull.”

“May we?”

Armine drew up a chair.

“Sit on my other side, Doctor Isaacson.  I’ve heard a great deal about you.  You’ve made perfect cures of most of my enemies.”

There was not the least trace of consciousness in her manner, not the faintest suspicion of embarrassment in her look, and, as he sat down, the Doctor found himself admiring the delicate perfection of her deceit, as he had sometimes admired a subtle nuance in the performance of some great French actress.