It commits, in effect, a great act of brigandage.
It lives on complete, powerful--even more powerful than ever before,
because to all its original powers it adds a glory of deception, and
is a living lie. If only you could understand me!"
Suddenly he burst into a peal of laughter that was a full stop to his
philosophy. His cigarette had gone out. He threw it into the grate and
stretched out his arms, still laughing. And Cuckoo gazing at him, as if
fascinated, said silently to herself, "If only I could!"
For she felt as if Valentine were telling her a great secret, secure in
the hideous knowledge that, though she heard it, it must remain a secret
from her on account of her ignorance and of her stupidity. There was
something in that feeling peculiarly maddening, yet Cuckoo displayed no
irritation. The sharp little demon at her elbow whispered to her to be
silent, told her that she might learn, might yet understand, if she would
play a part, and be no more the wildcat, the foolishly impulsive lady of
the feathers. Valentine struck his hand upon the table, and repeated:
"Why--why can't you understand?"
The piquancy of the situation evidently delighted his mind and his
sense of mischief. He enjoyed playing the philosopher to a fool; and
the more the fool became a fool, the higher soared his philosophy and
his appreciation of it.
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