And all these circumstances she met with absolute
carelessness, with a devil-may-care laugh, or the sigh of one weary, but
not afraid. She was no more timid than the average English street-boy.
Only these two men, one dead, one alive, knew how to dress her in terror
from head to foot, brain, heart, and body. And so she joined them in a
ghastly brotherhood.
But to-night she was making a conscious effort against the domination of
Valentine, for the awakening of fear in her was counterbalanced by other
feelings prompting her to fight. And once Cuckoo began to fight she felt
that she would not lack courage. For she clung to action, and hated
thought, walking clearly in the one, but through a maze in the other.
Despite her fear of him, something drove her to fight Valentine; only she
did not know how to fight him. It was in a mood of doubt that she had
wandered into Harley Street and bent to read the name on the door of
Dr. Levillier. Julian's description of the doctor had appealed to her.
The mention of his goodness, of his pure life, of his care for others,
had impressed her, she scarcely knew why, and brought into her mind a
desire to see this little man. Yet he was devoted to Valentine. And then
Cuckoo, lying back on the sofa, felt heart-sick, wondering at the power
of this man whom she hated and feared, wondering how she could ever fight
against his influence over Julian; wondering, too, a little, why it was
that she knew she must and certainly would fight it.
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