He was beset by his sensitive dislike to mix in other people's affairs,
but almost angrily he overcame it.

"I don't know. You may. Mrs. Chepstow, you were raving just now about
the delights of the English winter--"

"Shut out!" she interpolated.

"Then why should you avoid them?"

"And who says I am going to?"

"Are not you going to Egypt?"

She settled herself in the angle of the sofa.

"Would it be the wrong climate for me, Doctor Isaacson?"

She put an emphasis on "Doctor."

"I am not talking as a doctor."

"Then as a friend--or as an enemy?"

"As a friend--of his."

"Of whom?"

"Of Nigel Armine."