“You had better get to bed,” he said to Nigel, letting his wrist go, and watching it sharply as it dropped to the cushions.  “I shall give you something to make you sleep.”

Mrs. Armine opened her lips, but this time he sent her a look which caused her to shut them.

“I don’t know whether you are in the habit of taking anything—­whether you are given anything at night.  If so, to-night it is to be discontinued.  You are to touch nothing except what I am going to give you.  Directly you are in bed I’ll come.”

“But—­” Nigel began, “we haven’t—­”

“Had any talk.  I know.  There’ll be plenty of time for that.  But Mrs. Armine is quite right.  It is late, and you must go at once to bed.”

Nigel made a movement to get up.  Mrs. Armine quickly and efficiently helped him, put her arm around him, supported his arm, led him away into the narrow corridor from which the bedrooms opened.  They disappeared through a little doorway on the left.

Then Isaacson sat down and waited, looking at the leaping spray and at the gilded trifle that was its captive.  Presently his eyes travelled away from that, and examined the room and everything in it.  That man whom he had seen driving the Russian horses, and squatting on the floor of the hashish cafe, might well be at home here.  And he himself—­could not he be at home here, with these marvellous prayer-rugs and embroideries, into which was surely woven something of the deep and eternal enigma of the East?  But his friend and—­that woman?

Actively, now, he hated Mrs. Armine.  He was a man who could hate well.  But he was not going to allow his hatred to run away with him.  Once, in a silent contest between them, he had been worsted by her.  In this second contest he now declined to be worsted.  One fall was enough for this man who was not accustomed to be overthrown.  If his temper and his pride were his enemies, he must hold them in bondage.  She had struck at both audaciously that night.  But the blow, instead of driving him away, had sent him straight to the sick man.  That stroke of hers had miscarried.  But Isaacson recognized her power as an opponent.

A consultation to-morrow at four with this young doctor!  So that was ordained, was it, by Bella Donna?

His energy of mind soon made him weary of sitting, and he got up and went towards the balcony which so lately he had been watching from the bank of the Nile.  As he stepped out upon it he saw a white figure by the rail, and he remembered that Hamza had been with Nigel, and had disappeared at his approach.  He had not given Hamza a thought.  The sick man had claimed all of him.  But now, in this pause, he had time to think of Hamza.

As he came out upon the balcony the Egyptian turned round to look at him.