He looked at Cuckoo in the
firelight as she mutely ate and drank, and was all at once profoundly
conscious of the dreary vulgarity of her appearance, against which even
her original prettiness and her present youth fought in vain. Her hat
cast a monstrous shadow upon the wall, a shadow so distorted and
appalling that Julian almost grew red as he observed it, and felt that
Valentine was probably observing it also. He wished poor Cuckoo had left
the crying scarlet gown at home, and those black lozenges, which were
suited to the pavement of the hall of a financier. Everything she had
on expressed a mind such as Valentine must become acquainted with in
amazement, and have intercourse with in sorrow. The pathetic side of
this preposterous feathered and bugled degradation he would fail to see.
Julian felt painfully certain of this. All the details of the woman would
offend him, who was so alive to the value of fine details in life. He
must surely be wondering with all his soul how Julian could ever have
contemplated continuing the intercourse with Cuckoo which had been begun
for a definite purpose already accomplished. Yet Julian's feeling of
friendship towards this rouged scarecrow with the pathetic eyes and
the anxious hands did not diminish as he blushed for her, but rather
increased, fed, it seemed, by the discordant trifles in which her soul
moved as in a maze.
Pages:
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261