Part 53 (2/2)
At the word ”amus.e.m.e.nts” she drew in her breath with a little hiss of contempt. Julian flushed again.
”You're the last person,” he began, and then caught himself up short. It must be confessed that she was very aggravating, and that the position she took up was wholly untenable. Having checked himself, he said more calmly:
”What's the good of talking about it? I live as other men do, naturally.”
”Are you a beast too, then?” she asked.
She still kept her voice low, and the sentence came with all the more effect on this account.
”I don't see that,” Julian exclaimed, evidently stung. ”Women are always ready to say that about men.”
Cuckoo broke into a laugh. She picked up her gla.s.s, and drank all that was in it. Putting it down empty, she laughed again, with her eyes on Julian. That sound of mirth chilled him utterly.
”Why d'you laugh?” he said.
”I don't know--thinkin' that you're to be like all the rest, I suppose,”
she answered. ”Like all them brutes out there, and him too.”
”Him,” said Julian. ”Whom are you speaking of?”
She had not meant to say those last words, and tried to get out of an answer by asking for something more to drink.
”Chartreuse,” she said, with the oddest imaginable accent.
Julian ordered it hastily, and then immediately repeated his question.
”Never mind,” Cuckoo replied. ”It don't matter.”
But he was not to be denied.
”D'you mean Valentine?” he asked.
She nodded her head slowly. Although Julian had half suspected that Valentine might be there this confirmation of his suspicion gave him a decided shock.
”Oh, he was just walking home from some party,” he exclaimed.
”P'raps.”
”I'm certain of it.”
”He don't matter,” she said with a hard accent.
She drank the chartreuse very slowly, and seemed to be reflecting, and a change came over her face. It softened as much as a painted face can soften under dyed hair.
”Dearie,” she said, ”it makes me sick to see you like the rest.”
”I never pretended to be anything different.”
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