She tossed her head and giggled.
"Where do you live?" Julian continued.
The lady dived into the back part of her skirt, and, after a long and
passionate pursuit, ran a small purse to earth. Opening it with
deliberation, she extracted a good-sized card, and handed it up to
Julian.
"There you are, dearie," she said.
On the card was printed, "Cuckoo Bright, 400 Marylebone Road."
"I will come at five this afternoon and take you out to tea," said
Julian.
"Right you are, Bertie," the lady cried, in a voice thrilling with pride
and exultation.
Julian rode off, and she watched him go, preening herself against the
rail like some gaudy bird. She looked up at a policeman and laughed
knowingly.
"Well, copper," she said; "how's that, eh?"
The policeman was equal to the occasion.
"Not out," he answered, with a stiff and semi-official smile. "Move
along."
And Cuckoo Bright moved as one who walked on air.
Julian had joined Valentine, who had observed the colloquy from afar,
controlling with some difficulty the impatience of his mare, excited by
her gallop.
"You know that lady?" he asked, still laughing, with perhaps a touch of
contempt.
"Very platonically. We met at a coffee-stall in Piccadilly as I was going
home after your trance.
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