ay. I wonder the ladies will let
you go."

He smiled, and touched his moustache affectionately.

"Why the ladies, especially?"

"I understood your practice lay chiefly among the neurotic smart women
of London."

"No."

Isaacson's voice echoed the dryness of Doctor Hartley's.

"I'm sorry."

"May I ask why?"

"On the other side of the water we find them--shall I say the best type
of patients?"

"Ah!"

Isaacson remembered the sentence of Mrs. Armine which had sent him
straight to the sick man. He seemed to detect her cruel prompting in the
half-evasive yet sufficiently clear words just spoken.

"Now about Mr. Armine," he said, brushing the topic of himself away. "I
am sure--"

But Doctor Hartley interrupted with quiet firmness. One quality he
seemed to have in the fullest abundance. He seemed to be largely
self-possessed.

"It always clears the ground to be frank, I find," he said, smoothing
out some creases in his ducks. "I don't require a consultation, Doctor
Isaacson. I don't consider it a case that needs a consultation at
present. Directly I do, I shall be glad to call you in."

Isaacson looked down at the rug beneath his chair.

"You consider Mr. Armine going on satisfactorily?" he asked, looking up.

"It's a severe case of sunstroke. It will take time and care. I have
decided to stay aboard for a few days to devote myself entirely to it."

"Very good of you."

"I have no doubt whatever of very soon pulling my patient round."

"You don't see any complications in the case?"

"Complications?"

The tone was distinctly, almost alertly, hostile. But Isaacson
reiterated coolly:

"Yes, complications. You are quite satisfied this is a case of
sunstroke?"

"Quite."

The word came with a hard stroke, that was like the stroke of finality.

"Well, I'm not."

Doctor Hartley stared.

"I know you have come over with a view to a consultation," he said,
stiffly. "But my patient has not demanded it, and as I think it entirely
unnecessary, you will recognize that we need not pursue this
conversation."

"You say the patient does not wish for my opinion on the case?" said
Isaacson, allowing traces of surprise to escape him.

"I do. He is quite satisfied to leave it in my hands. He told me so this
morning when I arrived."

"I am not reflecting for a moment on your capacity, Doctor Hartley. But,
really, in complex cases, two opinions--"

"Who says the case is complex?"

"I do. I was extremely s