Doctor Hartley looked quickly towards the chair too.

“Good-bye,” he said, hesitatingly.

His youth was very apparent at this moment, pushing up into view through his indecision.  Every scrap of Isaacson’s anger against him had now entirely vanished.

“Good-bye!”

Mrs. Armine moved her head slightly, settling it against a large cushion.  She sighed.

Isaacson walked slowly towards the companion.  As the Loulia was a very large dahabeeyah, the upper deck was long.  It was furnished like a drawing-room, with chairs, tables, and sofas.  Isaacson threaded his way among these cautiously as if mindful of the sick man below.  At length he reached the companion and began to descend.  Just as he got to the bottom a whispering voice behind him said: 

“Doctor Isaacson!”

He turned.  Doctor Hartley was at the top of the steps.

“One minute!  I’ll come down!” he said, still whispering.

He turned back and glanced over his shoulder.  Then, putting his two hands upon the two rails on either side of the steps, he was swiftly and rather boyishly down, and standing by Isaacson.

“I—­we—­I think we may as well have a word together before you go.”

His self-possession was distinctly affected.  Anxiety showed itself nakedly in his yellow-brown eyes, and there were wrinkles in his low forehead just below the crimpy hair.

“She’s fallen asleep,” he added, looking hard at Isaacson.

“Just as you like,” Isaacson said indifferently.

“I think, after what has passed, it will be better.”

Isaacson glanced round on the stretched-out Nubians, on Ibrahim and Hassan in a corner, standing respectfully but looking intensely inquisitive.

“We’d—­we can go in here,” said Doctor Hartley.

He led the way softly down the steps under the Arabic inscription, and into the first saloon of the Loulia.  As Isaacson came into it, instinctively he looked towards the shut door behind which—­somewhere—­Nigel was lying, asleep or not asleep.

“He’ll sleep for some hours yet,” said Doctor Hartley, seeing the glance.  “Let’s sit down here.”

He sat down quickly on the nearest divan, and pulled his fingers restlessly.

“I didn’t quite understand—­that is—­I don’t know whether I quite gathered your meaning just now,” he began, looking at Isaacson, then looking down between his feet.

“My meaning?”

“Yes, about this case.”

“I thought you considered a consultation unnecessary.”

“A formal consultation—­yes.  Still, you mustn’t think I don’t value a good medical opinion.  And of course I know yours is a good one.”

Isaacson said nothing.  Not a muscle of his face stirred.

“The fact is—­the fact is that, somehow, you have thoroughly put Mrs. Armine’s back up.  She thinks you altogether undervalue her devoted service.”