And as he held her hand a sense of helplessness came
over Cuckoo. Even through his kid glove she could feel the burning heat
of his palm, of the fingers that clutched hers with the strength of an
athlete. She gazed towards him through the new black veil that was drawn
over her face, and it seemed even to her limited intelligence that the
man who was so brutally holding her against her will could not be the man
at whom she was now looking. For Valentine, whose profile was set towards
her, was pale, calm, almost languid in appearance. His blue eyes were
glancing quietly over the multitude, with an air of indifferent
observation. His lips were slightly parted in a sort of dawning smile,
and his whole attitude was that of a man lazily at ease and taking his
pleasure in a desultory mood. Yet the hand on Cuckoo's knees was vicious
in its grasp. This startling and silent contradiction threw her into a
complete panic, but she did not dare to say anything in protest. She
sat silently trembling, and drawing her lips together in growing
perturbation, till Julian happened to turn towards them. Then Valentine's
fingers relaxed their grasp quietly, and slipped away. At the same time
he moved with an air of energy, and broke into gay conversation.
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