ne great quality, the lack of which in many men leads them
to distresses, sometimes to disasters. He knew when ice would bear, and
directly it would bear, he was content to trust himself on it, but he
did not stamp upon it unnecessarily, to prove it beyond its strength.

Suddenly he was ready to go, to leave this boat for a time. He had done
as much as he could do for the moment, without making an actual scene.
He had even perhaps done enough. That turned-up tail of a sentence
nearly convinced him that he had done enough.

"That's well," he said.

His voice was inexpressive, but his face, turned full to the young
doctor, told a powerful story of terribly serious doubt, the doubt of a
big medical man directed towards a little one.

"That's well," he quietly repeated.

"Good-bye, Mrs. Armine," he said.

She was sunk in her chair. Her arms were still lying along its arms,
with her hands hanging. As Isaacson spoke, from one of these hands her
fan dropped down to the rug. She did not feel after it.

"Are you really going?" she said.

A faint smile twisted her mouth.

"Yes."

"Good-bye, then!"

He turned away from her slowly.

"Well, good-bye, Doctor Hartley," he said.

All this conversation, since the arrival on deck of Mrs. Armine, had
been carried on with lowered voices. But now Isaacson spoke more softly,
and his eyes for an instant went from Doctor Hartley to the tall figure
sitting low in the chair, and back again to Hartley.

He did not hold out his hand. His voice was polite, but almost totally
inexpressive.

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 bac