"Doctor Meyer Isaacson."
Mrs. Chepstow had perhaps been sitting on her balcony, for when Isaacson went in she was in the opening of a window space, standing close to a writing-table, which had its drawers facing the window. Behind her, on the balcony, there was a small arm-chair.
"Doctor Meyer Isaacson!" she said, with an intonation of surprise.
The servant went out and shut the door.
"How quite amazing!"
"But—why, Mrs. Chepstow?"
He had taken and dropped her hand. As he touched her, he remembered holding her wrist in his consulting room. The sensation she had communicated to him then she communicated again, this time perhaps more strongly.
"Why? It is Bank Holiday! And you never come to see me. By the way, how clever of you to divine that I should be in on such a day of universal going out."
"Even men have their intuitions."
"Don't I know it, to my cost? But to-day I can only bless man's intuition. Where will you sit?"