"That's well," he said.
His voice was inexpressive, but his face, turned full to the young doctor, told a powerful story of terribly serious doubt, the doubt of a big medical man directed towards a little one.
"That's well," he quietly repeated.
"Good-bye, Mrs. Armine," he said.
She was sunk in her chair. Her arms were still lying along its arms, with her hands hanging. As Isaacson spoke, from one of these hands her fan dropped down to the rug. She did not feel after it.
"Are you really going?" she said.
A faint smile twisted her mouth.
"Yes."
"Good-bye, then!"
He turned away from her slowly.
"Well, good-bye, Doctor Hartley," he said.
All this conversation, since the arrival on deck of Mrs. Armine, had been carried on with lowered voices. But now Isaacson spoke more softly, and his eyes for an instant went from Doctor Hartley to the tall figure sitting low in the chair, and back again to Hartley.
He did not hold out his hand. His voice was polite, but almost totally inexpressive.
Doctor Hartley looked quickly towards the chair too.
"Good-bye," he said, hesitatingly.
His youth was very apparent at this moment, pushing up into view through his indecision. Every scrap of Isaacson's anger against him had now entirely vanished.
"Good-bye!"
Mrs. Armine moved her head slightly, settling it against a large cushion. She sighed.
Isaacson walked slowly towards the companion. As the Loulia was a very large dahabeeyah, the upper deck was long. It was furnished like a drawing-room, with chairs, tables, and sofas. Isaacson threaded his way among these cautiously as if mindful of the sick man below. At length he reached the companion and began to descend. Just as he got to the bottom a whispering voice behind him said: "Doctor Isaacson!"
He turned. Doctor Hartley was at the top of the steps.
"One minute! I'll come down!" he said, still whispering.
He turned back and glanced over his shoulder. Then, putting his two hands upon the two rails on either side of the steps, he was swiftly and rather boyishly down, and standing by Isaacson.
"I--we--I think we may as well have a word together before you go."
His self-possession was distinctly affected. Anxiety showed itself nakedly in his yellow-brown eyes, and there were wrinkles in his low forehead just below the crimpy hair.
"She's fallen asleep," he added, looking hard at Isaacson.
"Just as you like," Isaacson said indifferently.
"I think, after what has passed, it will be better."
Isaacson glanced round on the stretched-out Nubians, on Ibrahim and Hassan in a corner, standing respectfully but looking intensely inquisitive.
"We'd--we can go in here," said Doctor Hartley.