"
Cuckoo glanced up hastily at the words. A little serpent enmity surely
hissed in them. Julian spoke as if he were a man with some rebel feeling
at his heart. But the serpent glided and was gone as he added:
"I'm always with him when I'm not with you, for I haven't seen the doctor
for ages."
"The doctor! Who's that, then," asked Cuckoo.
"Doctor Levillier. Surely you've heard me talk about him."
"No, dearie."
"Oh, he's a nerve-doctor, and a sort of little saint, lives for his work,
and is a deuced religious chap, never does anything, you know."
Julian looked at her.
"Oh," she said.
"And believes in everything. He's a dear little chap, the kindest heart
in the world, good to every one, no matter who it is. He's devoted to
Valentine."
"Eh?" said Cuckoo, with a long-drawn intonation of astonishment.
"I say he's devoted to Valentine," Julian repeated rather irritably. His
temper was much less certain and sunny lately than of old. "But I believe
he's devoted to every one he can do any good to. We used to see him
continually, but he's been abroad for weeks, looking after a bad case, a
Russian Grand Duke in Italy, who would have him, and pays him all the
fees he'd be getting in London. He'll be coming back directly, I think.
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