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."