"Perhaps you're right." He looked at the young man as if with admiration. "Yes, I dare say you are right."
Doctor Hartley brightened.
"I'm glad you think so. Now, a woman like Mrs. Armine—"
The mention of the name recalled him to anxiety. "One moment!" he almost whispered. He went lightly away and in a moment as lightly returned.
"It's all right! She'll sleep for some hours, probably. Now, a woman like Mrs. Armine, a beautiful, celebrated woman, wants a certain amount of humouring. And you don't humour her. See?"
"I expect you know."
Isaacson did not tell of that sheet of glass through which Mrs. Armine and he saw each other too plainly.
"She's a woman with any amount of heart, any amount. I've proved that." He paused, looked sentimental, and continued, "Proved it up to the hilt. But she's a little bit capricious. She wants to be taken the right way. I can do anything with her."
He touched his rose-coloured tie, and pulled up one of his rose-coloured socks.
"And the husband?" Isaacson asked, with a detached manner. "D'you find him difficult?"