Part 89 (1/2)
”At Cairo I heard from a man that your husband was too ill to travel, and therefore certainly could not under any circ.u.mstances have gone to England when he heard of his brother's death. At Luxor from a woman I heard very much the same story.”
”Of course, and probably with plenty of embroidery and exaggeration.”
”Perhaps. But sunstroke can be a very serious thing.”
”I never heard you were a specialist in sunstroke.”
”And is Doctor Baring Hartley, who is watching this case from a.s.souan?”
They looked at each other for a minute in silence. Then she said:
”Perhaps I've been a little unjust to-night. I've had a good deal of trouble lately, and it's upset my nerves. I know you care for Nigel, and I'm grateful to you for your friendly anxiety. But perhaps you don't realize that you've expressed that anxiety in a way that--well, that has seemed to reflect upon me, upon my conduct, and any woman, any wife, would resent that, and resent it keenly.”
”I'm sorry,” he said, coldly. ”In what way have I reflected upon you?”
”Your words, your whole manner--they seem to show doubt of my care of and anxiety about Nigel. I resent that.”
”I'm sorry,” he said again, and again with almost icy coldness.
Her lips trembled.
”Perhaps, being a man, you don't realize how it hurts a woman who has been through a nervous strain when some one pushes in from outside and makes nothing of all she has been doing, tacitly belittles all her care and devotion and self-sacrifice, and tries, or seems to wish to try, to thrust himself into her proper place.”
”Oh, Mrs. Armine, you are exaggerating. I wish nothing of that kind. All I wish is to be allowed to use such medical talent as G.o.d has given me in the service of your husband and my friend.”
Her lips ceased from trembling. ”I cannot insult Doctor Baring Hartley by consenting to bring in another doctor behind his back,” she said. And now her voice was as cold, as hard, as decisive as his own. ”I am astonished that you should be so utterly indifferent to the etiquette of your own profession,” she added.
”I will make that all right with Doctor Hartley when I get to a.s.souan.”
”There will be no need for that.”
”Do you mean that you are going to refuse absolutely to allow me to see your husband?”
”I do. In any case, you could not see him to-night, as he is asleep--”
She stopped. Through the silent boat there went the sharp, tingling noise of an electric bell.
”As he is asleep.” She spoke more quickly and unevenly. ”And to-morrow Doctor Hartley will be here, and I shall go by what he says. If he wishes a consultation--”
Again the bell sounded. She frowned. Hamza appeared at the door leading from the deck. He closed the door behind him, crossed the cabin without noise, opened the farther door, and vanished, shutting it with a swift gentleness that seemed almost unnatural.
”Then it will be a different matter, and I shall be very glad indeed to have your opinion. I know its value”--she looked towards the door by which Hamza had gone out--”but I must treat Doctor Hartley with proper consideration. And now I must say good night.”
Her voice still hurried. Quickly she held out her hand.
”The felucca will take you home. And to-morrow, as soon as Doctor Hartley has been here and I have had a talk with him and heard what he thinks, I'll let you know all about it. It's very good of you to bother.”
But Isaacson did not take the outstretched hand.
”Your husband is awake,” he said, abruptly.