For she had learnt wisdom, and hugged it in
her arms. Valentine was scarcely ever mentioned between them; but once,
and evidently by accident, Julian allowed an expression to escape him
which implied that Valentine now objected to the intimacy with Cuckoo.
Immediately the words were uttered, Julian looked confused, and obviously
would have wished to recall them, had it been possible.
"Oh, I know as he don't like me," Cuckoo said.
Julian answered nothing.
"Why d'you come, then?" she continued, with a certain desperation. "There
ain't nothin' here to bring you. I know that well enough."
She cast a comprehensive glance round over the badly furnished room.
"Nothin' at all," she added with a sigh.
While she spoke Julian began to wonder, too, why he came, why he liked
to come there. As Cuckoo said, there was nothing at all to bring him so
often. He liked her, he was sorry for her, he had even a deep-running
sympathy for her, but he did not love her. Yet he was fascinated to come
to her, and there were sometimes moments when he seemed taken possession
of, led by the hand, to that squalid room and that squalid presence in
it. Why was that? What led him? He could not tell.
"I like coming here," he said; "and of course it's nothing to Valentine
where I go.
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