sultation with a
man--forgive me--as widely known as myself was refused, well, it
wouldn't do you any good, I'm afraid."

"Good Heavens!" exclaimed the young man, getting up in a flurry.
"But--but--look here, have you any idea what's the matter?"

"Unless there's a formal consultation, I must decline to say anything on
that point."

Doctor Hartley dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief.

"I--I do wish you were on better terms with Mrs. Armine," he said. "I
should be delighted to meet you in consultation. It would really be
better, much better."

"I think it would. It often requires two brains working in accord to
unravel a difficult case."

"Of course it does! Of course it does!"

"Well, I'm just down the river. And I may pole up little higher."

"Of course, if I demand another opinion--"

"Ah, that's your right."

"I shall exercise it."

"Women, even the best of women don't always understand as we do, the
gravity of a situation."

"Just what I think!"

"And if--he should get worse--" said Isaacson, gravely, almost solemnly,
and at this moment giving some rein to his real, desperately sincere
feeling.

"Oh, but--do you think it's likely?"

Isaacson looked steadily at Hartley.

"I do--very likely."

"Whatever she wishes or says, I shall summon you at once. She will be
thankful, perhaps afterwards."

"Women admire the man who takes a strong line."

"They do!"

"And I think that you may be very thankful--afterwards."

"I'll tell you what, I'm going to call you in, in consultation to-night.
Directly the patient wakes and I've seen him, I shall insist on calling
you in. I won't bear the whole responsibility alone. It isn't fair. And,
as you say, she'll be glad afterwards and admire the strong line I--one
takes."

They parted very differently from the way in which they had met.

Did the fate of Nigel depend upon whether the sensual or the ambitious
part of the young American came out "top dog" in the worry that was
impending? Isaacson called it to himself a worry, not a fight. The word
seemed to suit best the nature in which the contest would take place.

Mrs. Armine's ravaged face would count for something in the struggle.
Isaacson's cleverness was trusting a little to that, with a pitiless
intuition that was almost feminine.

His eyes had pierced the veil, and had seen that the Indian summer had
suddenly faded.

XXXVIII

Returned to the _Fatma_, Isaacson felt within him a sor