"But what of her will for another, her soul for
another?"
He had spoken partly at random, partly led by the thought, the suspicion,
that Cuckoo's abandoned body held a fine love for Julian. He was by no
means prepared for the striking effect his remark had upon Valentine.
No sooner were the words spoken than a strong expression of fear was
visible in Valentine's face, of terror so keen that it killed the anger
which had preceded it. He trembled as he stood, till the table shook; and
apparently noticing this, and wishing to conceal so extreme an exhibition
of emotion, he slid hastily into a seat.
"Her will for another," he repeated,--"for another. What do you mean by
that? where's the other, then? who is it?"
The doctor looked upon him keenly.
"Anybody for whom she has any desire, any solicitude, or any love--you,
myself, or--Julian."
"Julian!" Valentine repeated unsteadily. "Julian! you mean to say you--"
He pulled himself together abruptly.
"Doctor," he said, "forgive me for saying that you are scarcely talking
sense when you assume that such a creature as Cuckoo Bright can really
love anybody. And even if she did, Julian's the last man--oh, but the
whole thing is absurd. Why should you and I talk about a street-girl,
a drab whose life begins and ends in the gutter? Julian will be here
directly.
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