"Why, you have torn it up," Julian said, in surprise.
"Oh yes."
Valentine paused, then added:
"You had better ask her by word of mouth. Persuade her to come."
"I will try."
The lady of the feathers did indeed require a good deal of persuasion.
When first Julian made the proposition her face shone with gratification,
for he gave the invitation without mentioning Valentine's name. But then
the clouds came down. The lady remembered him suddenly, and said:
"Are we two going alone, dearie?"
"Well--it's a big box, you see. We should be lost in it."
"Oh."
She waited for further explanation, an obvious anxiety in her eyes.
"My friend Cresswell is coming with us. It's his box."
The gratification died away from the painted face. Cuckoo shook her head
and pursed her lips in obvious and absurd disapprobation.
"Then I don't think I'll go. No; I won't."
And upon this Julian had to launch forth over a sea of expostulation and
protest. Cuckoo possessed all the obstinacy of an ignorant and battered
nature, taught by many a well-founded distrust, to rely upon its own
feebleness, rather than upon the probably brutal strength of others. She
was difficult to move, although she had no arguments with which to defend
her assumption of the mule's attitude.
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