"She doesn't seem to have anywhere special to go to."
"Oh!"
Isaacson opened a book, and laid his hand upon a page. It happened to be a book on poisons and their treatment. He smoothed the page down mechanically and kept his hand there.
"I say, Isaacson, you couldn't have the blood-lust?"
"I hope not. I think not."
"I believe you hate it as I do, hate and loathe it with all your soul. But I've always felt that you think for yourself, and don't care a rap what the world is thinking. I've looked in to-night to say good-bye, and to ask you, if you can get the time, just to give an eye to—to Mrs. Chepstow now and again. I know she would value a visit from you, and she really is infernally lonely. If you go, she won't bore you. She's a clever woman, and cares for things you care for. Will you look in on her now and then?"
Isaacson lifted his hand from the book.
"I will call upon her," he said.
"Good!"
"But are you sure she wishes it?"