But feelin' ain't a bit of good. It's looks, I suppose. Everythin' 's
looks."
"No, not everything," the doctor said.
Cuckoo's speech both interested and touched him. Its confused wistfulness
came straight from the heart. And then it recalled to the doctor a
conversation he had had with Valentine, when they talked over the
extraordinary influence that the mere appearance--will working through
features--of one man or woman can have over another. The doctor could
only at present rather dimly apprehend the feeling entertained for Julian
by Cuckoo. But as he glanced at her, he understood very well the pathos
of the contest raging at present between her heart and the painted shell
which held it.
"Nobody who feels goodness is utterly bereft of the power of bringing
good to another," he said. "For we can seldom really feel what we can
never really be."
Light shone through the shadows of the tired face at the words.
"He said different from that," she exclaimed.
"He--who?"
"Him as you call Valentine. That's why he told me all about it, because
he knew as I shouldn't understand, and because he thinks I can't do
nothin' for any one. But I say, you do somethin' for Julian, will you,
will you?"
There was a passion of pleading in her voice.
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