"Perhaps not," Isaacson said, with an apparent simplicity that sounded like humility.
Doctor Hartley looked more at his ease. Some of his cool self-importance returned.
"No," he said. "Really! And I must say that--you'll forgive me?"
"Certainly."
"--that it has always seemed to me as if, in our walk of life, that was half the battle."
"Knowing how to take women?"
"Exactly."
"Perhaps you're right." He looked at the young man as if with admiration. "Yes, I dare say you are right."
Doctor Hartley brightened.
"I'm glad you think so. Now, a woman like Mrs. Armine--"
The mention of the name recalled him to anxiety. "One moment!" he almost whispered. He went lightly away and in a moment as lightly returned.
"It's all right! She'll sleep for some hours, probably. Now, a woman like Mrs. Armine, a beautiful, celebrated woman, wants a certain amount of humouring. And you don't humour her. See?"
"I expect you know."
Isaacson did not tell of that sheet of glass through which Mrs. Armine and he saw each other too plainly.
"She's a woman with any amount of heart, any amount. I've proved that." He paused, looked sentimental, and continued, "Proved it up to the hilt. But she's a little bit capricious. She wants to be taken the right way. I can do anything with her."
He touched his rose-coloured tie, and pulled up one of his rose-coloured socks.
"And the husband?" Isaacson asked, with a detached manner. "D'you find him difficult?"
"Between ourselves, very!"
"That's bad."
"He tries her very much, I'm afraid, though he pretends, of course, to be devoted to her. And she's simply an angel to him."
"Hard on her!"
"I sympathize with her very much. Of course, she's told me nothing. She's too loyal. But I can read between the lines. Tell me, though. Do you think him very bad?"
"Very."
Isaacson spoke without emotion, as if out of a solely medical mind.
"You don't--ah--you don't surely think him in any danger?"
Isaacson slightly shrugged his shoulders.
"But--h'm--but about the sunstroke! If it isn't sunstroke--?"
Hartley waited for an interruption. None came.
"If it isn't sunstroke entirely, the question is, what is it?"
Isaacson looked at him in silence.
"Have you formed any definite opinion?" said Hartley, at last bringing himself to the point.
"I should have to watch the case, if only for a day or two before giving any definite opinion."
"Well, but--informally, what do you think about it? What did you mean upstairs about unless very great care was taken a--a--medical reputation might be--er--ruined over it. 'Ruined' is a very strong word, you know."
The egoist was evidently very much alarmed.