"When are you expecting Mrs. Armine back?" he asked.
"In four nights. She wants a couple of full days in Cairo. Then there are the two night journeys."
"I'll tell you before she comes back."
Isaacson turned round, and strolled away into the darkness of the garden.
When he was alone there, he tacitly reproached himself for his vehemence of spirit, for the heat of his temper. Yet surely they were leading him in the right path. These words of Nigel had awakened him to the very simple fact that this association must come to an end, and almost immediately. He had been, he supposed now, drifting on from day to day, postponing any decision. Mrs. Armine was stronger than he. From her, through Nigel, had come to him this access of determination, drawn really from her decision. As he knew this, he was able secretly to admire for a moment this woman whom he actively hated. Her work in the dark would send him now to work in the light.
It was inevitable. While he had believed that very possibly her departure to Cairo was a flight from her husband, Isaacson had had a reason for his hesitation. If Bella Donna vanished, why torture Nigel further? Let him lose her, without knowing all that he had lost. But if she were really coming back, and if he, Isaacson, must go—and his departure in any case must shortly be inevitable—then, cost what it might, the truth must be told.
As he paced the garden, he was trying to brace himself to the most difficult, the most dreadful duty life had so far imposed upon him.
When he went back to the terrace, Nigel was no longer there. He had gone up to bed.
The next day passed without a word between the two men on the subject of the previous night. They talked on indifferent topics. But the cloud of mutual reserve once more enveloped them, and intercourse was uneasy.
Another day dawned.