With his usual quickness of mind he had realized the exact strength of the strategic position she had so suddenly and unexpectedly taken up.  For the moment he wished to gain time.  His former complete decision as to what he meant to do was slightly weakened by her presentation of Nigel, the believer.  From his knowledge of his friend, he appreciated her judgment of Nigel at its full value.  What she had just said was true, and the truth bristled like a bayonet-point in the midst of the lies by which it was surrounded.

“Talked this over?  How can that be?”

“Very easily.  When two people love each other there is nothing they do not discuss—­even their enemies.”

“My dear Mrs. Armine, no melodrama, please!”

“Melodrama or not, Doctor Isaacson, I promise you it is a fact that my friends are Nigel’s friends, and that my enemies would, at a very few words from me, find that in Nigel they had an enemy.”

“If you are speaking of me, your husband would never be my enemy.”

“Do you know why he never told you we were going to be married?”

“It was no business of mine.”

“His instinct informed him that you mistrusted me.  Since then a good deal of time has passed.  A man who loves his wife, and has proved her devotion to him, does not care about those who mistrust and condemn her.  Their mistrust and condemnation reflect upon him, and not only on his love, but on his pride.  I advise you, when you come to Nigel as a doctor, to come as my friend, otherwise I don’t think you’ll have an opportunity of doing him much good.”

The cleverness of Isaacson, that cleverness which came from the Jewish blood within him, linked hands with the defiant adroitness of this woman even to-night and in the climax of suspicion.  Why, with her powers, had she made such a tragic mess of her life?  Why, with her powers, had she never been able to run straight along the way that leads to happiness?  Useless questions!  Their answer must be sought for far down in the secret depths of character.  And now?

“If you come to Nigel when I call you in it will be all right, not otherwise, believe me.”

She sat back on the divan.  The greyness had gone out of her face.  She looked now at her ease.  Isaacson remembered how this woman had got the better of him in London, how she had looked as she stood in her room at the Savoy, when he saw her for the last time before she married his friend.  She had been dressed in rose colour that day.  Now she was in black—­for Harwich.  It seemed that for evening wear she had brought some “thin mourning.”  Did he mean her to get the better of him again?

“But you will not call me in,” he said bluntly.

“Why not?  As a doctor I rather believe in you.”

“Nevertheless, you will not call me in.”

“If Doctor Hartley desires a consultation, I promise you that I will.  I hope you won’t make your fee too heavy.  You must remember we are almost poor people now.”