"It's altered, certainly."
"Yes, for the worse. It was a beautiful room, one of the most beautiful
in London."
A momentary change came over Julian. He dropped his hard manner, which
seemed an assumption to cover inward discomfort or shame.
"Yes," he said almost regretfully. "I suppose it was. But it's gayer now,
got more things in it. Full of memories this room is."
The last remark was evidently put forth as a feeler, to find out what
Valentine had been talking about. Dr. Levillier was habitually truthful,
although he could be very reserved if occasion seemed to require it. At
present he preferred to be frank.
"Memories of women," he remarked.
"Oh, you've heard?"
"That several tastes helped to make his room the pandemonium which it is.
Yes."
"You're severe, doctor."
"Perhaps you like the room for its memories, Addison."
Julian looked doubtful.
"I don't know. I suppose so," he hesitated.
"By the way, is there among these vagrant memories of Circassians,
Greeks, and Italians anything chosen by Cuckoo Bright?"
Julian started violently.
"Cuckoo Bright," he exclaimed, "what do you know of her?"
As he spoke Valentine strolled into the room dressed for dinner. He was
drawing on a pair of lavender gloves, and looked down sideways at his
coat to see if his buttonhole of three very pale and very perfectly
matched pink roses was quite straight.
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