"
Encouraged by the sound of her mistress's voice, Jessie stepped from
her basket and gingerly approached, snuffling round Cuckoo's feet, and
wriggling her body in token of anxious humility. Cuckoo picked her up and
stroked her mechanically, but still with her eyes on the photograph. Two
tears swam in them. She dashed the photograph down. It lay on the carpet,
and was still there when a knock at the door was succeeded by the
entrance of Julian.
He, too, looked pale and rather weary, but excited.
"Cuckoo," he said.
She sat still in the chair, looking at him.
"Well?" she said, and closed her lips tightly.
He came a step or two forward into the little room, and put his hat and
stick down on the table.
"You expected me to come, didn't you?"
"I don't know as I did."
Her eyes were on Jessie now, and she stroked the little dog's back
steadily up and down, alternately smoothing and ruffling its short coat.
Julian came over and stood by the mantelpiece.
"I told you I should come."
"Did you?"
"Don't you remember?"
She shifted round in the chair till he could only see her shoulder, and
the side of her head and neck, on which the loose hair was tumbling in
ugly confusion. Sitting thus she threw back at him the sentence:
"I don't want to remember nothing.
Pages:
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316