He looked across the table at Nigel, and questions seemed to be shining in his eyes.
"Do you mean that you don't want to tell me the name?" Nigel said.
It seemed that he was roused to persistence. Either curiosity or some other feeling was awakened within him.
"I don't say that. But you know we doctors often go cautiously—we don't care to commit ourselves."
"Hartley, yes. But that isn't true of you."
He paused.
"You are hedging," he said, bluntly.
Isaacson drank the Vichy and lemon. He put down the glass.
"You are hedging," Nigel repeated. "Why?"
"Isn't it enough for you to get well? What good will it do you to know what you have been suffering from?"