Julian was astonished by her tone, and had an
instant's inclination to resent it. But then he thought that there was
nothing in the words themselves, and that the odd manner probably sprang
simply from fatigue or some other womanish, undivined cause. So he
answered:
"Just taking a stroll. It's so fine," and began to drink his coffee.
But Cuckoo quickly showed that her manner meant all that it had seemed to
say.
"That ain't it," she said, with emphatic excitement, though she spoke in
a low voice because of the people all round them. "You know it ain't."
Julian was just lighting a cigarette. The match was flaming in his hand.
He let it go out as he looked at her.
"What do you mean?" he asked. "What's the matter?"
"What are you doin'?" she retorted. "That's what I want to know. Not as I
need to ask, though," she added, bitterly.
Julian was distinctly taken aback by the emotion in her manner, and the
passion that she tried to keep quiet in her voice. He flushed rather red,
a boyish trick which he could never quite get over.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, lighting another
match, and this time making it do its office on his cigarette.
Cuckoo tossed her head in a way that was not wholly free from vulgarity,
but that was certainly wholly unconscious and expressive of real feeling.
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