To-day I know that presently--Ruby, think of it!--I shall be the man I
once was."

"And I know it, too, Nigel--to-day--and that is why at last I feel I can
ask you something."

"Anything--anything. I would do anything to please you after all this
time of misery, and dulness for you!"

"It's a prosaic little request I have to make. I only want you to let me
take the night train and run up to Cairo."

His face fell. He stretched out his hand to touch hers.

"Go away! Go to Cairo!" he said.

And his voice was reluctant.

"Yes, Nigel," she said, with gentle firmness. "I've been looking over
my wardrobe these last days, and I'm simply in rags."

"But your dresses--"

"It's not only my dresses--I really am in rags. Won't you let me go just
for two days to get a few things I actually need? I'm not going to spend
a lot of money."

"As if it was that!"

He pressed her hand, and his pressure showed his returning strength.

"It's being without you."

"For two days. And you'll have Doctor Isaacson. I want to go while he is
still with us, so as not to leave you alone. And Nigel, while I'm gone,
can't you manage to find out what we owe him? It must be an enormous
sum."

Nigel suddenly looked preoccupied.

"I'd never thought of that," he said, slowly.

"No, because you've been ill. But I have often. And you must think of it
now."

"Yes; he's saved my life. I can never really repay him."

"Oh, yes, you can. Doctors do these things for fixed sums, you know."

He shifted in his chair, and sent an uneasy glance to her.

"I wish--how I wish that you and Isaacson could be better friends!" he
dropped out, at length.

"After all I've told you!" she exclaimed, almost with bitterness.

"I know, I know. But now that he's saved my life!"

"There are some things a woman can never forget, Nigel. I--of course, I
am deeply grateful to Meyer Isaacson, the doctor. But Meyer Isaacson the
man I never can be friends with. I must always tell you the truth, even
if it hurts you."

"Yes, yes."

"While I'm in Cairo, find out what we owe him. For I suppose now you
feel so much better he won't remain with us for ever."

"No, of course he must be wanting to go."

He spoke with hesitation. With the blameless selfishness of a sick man,
he had taken a great deal for granted. She was making him feel that now.
And he had to take it all in. How he depended on Isaacson! He looked at
his wife. And how he depended on her, too! He was