He was startled by her sudden comprehension of his thought.

“Heard! what, Mrs. Armine?”

“About my brother-in-law’s sudden death.”

“I saw it in the paper.”

“Well, I don’t happen to have any thin mourning with me.”

Her voice had changed again.  When she said that it was as hard as a stone.

Isaacson sat down near her.  His block of stone was in the sunshine.

“Besides what does it matter here?  And I never even knew Harwich, except by sight.”

Isaacson said nothing, and after a pause she added: 

“So I can’t be very sorry.  But Nigel’s been very much upset by it.”

“Has he?”

“Terribly.  I dare say you know how sensitive he is?”

“Yes.”

“He couldn’t go back for the funeral.  It was too far.  He wouldn’t have been in time.”

“That was why he didn’t go?”

Again he saw the eyes looking keenly at him from under the veil.

“It would have been absolutely no use.  Lady Harwich cabled to say so.”

“I see.”

“She has always been against Nigel since he married me.  You know what women are!”

He nodded.

“But the whole thing has upset Nigel dreadfully.  That’s why we are up here.  He wanted to get away, out of reach of everybody, and just to be alone with me.  He hasn’t even come out with me this morning.  He preferred to stay on the boat.  He won’t see a soul for two or three weeks, poor fellow!  It’s quite knocked him up, coming so suddenly.”

“I’m sorry.”

She turned her head towards him.  She was holding the sun-umbrella very low down.

“How long were you at Luxor?” she asked, carelessly.  “I forget.  And weren’t you in a hotel?  Did you go straight on board your boat?”

“I went to the Winter Palace for a few hours.”

“Did you?  And hated the crowd, I suppose?”

“I didn’t exactly love it.”

“You can imagine poor Nigel’s horror of it under the circumstances.  And then, you know, he hasn’t been very well lately.  Nothing of any importance—­nothing in your line—­but he got a touch of the sun.  And that, combined with this death, has made him shrink from everybody.  I shall try to persuade him, though, to see you later on, in two or three weeks perhaps, when you’re dropping down the Nile.  You’ll stay at the First Cataract, of course?”

“Probably.”

“That’ll be it, then.  As you come down.  You can easily find us.  Our boat is called the Loulia.”

“And so your husband’s had a touch of the sun?”

“Yes; digging at Luxor.  Of course, I got in a doctor at once, a charming man—­Doctor Baring Hartley.  Very clever—­a specialist from Boston.  He has the case in charge.”

“Oh, you’ve got him on board?”

“No.  Nigel wouldn’t have any one.  But he has the case in charge, and has gone up to Assouan to meet us there.  Shall you run up to Khartoum?”