"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 conscious again of his weakness, almost as a child might be. And these two human beings upon whom he was leaning were at enmity, not open but secret enmity. He did not know exactly how, or how much! But Ruby had told him often—things about Meyer Isaacson. And he knew that Isaacson had mistrusted her, and felt that he did so still.
"I may go, then?" she said.
He could not in reason forbid her. He thought of her long service.
"Of course, dearest, go. But surely you aren't going to-night?"
"If you'll let me. I shall only take a bag. And the sooner I go, the sooner I shall be back."
"In two days?"