"You old owl! He's not come to doctor me, only to see me."
Mrs. Brigg looked relieved, but still surprised.
"Oh," she said. "That's it, is it?"
She paused as if in consideration.
Suddenly Cuckoo sprang on her, twisted her round, and spun her out into
the cold passage. "Light the fire, I tell you!"
She banged the bedroom door and went on with her rapid toilet.
When she came into the sitting-room an uneasy fire was sputtering in
the grate, one gas-jet flared, and Doctor Levillier was standing by the
window looking out at the fog. He turned to greet her.
"I thought you'd forgotten--or didn't mean to come," Cuckoo said; "they
often do--people that say they will to me, I mean."
The doctor held out his hand with a smile.
"No. Am I interrupting you?"
"Me!" said Cuckoo, in amazement, thinking of her empty days. "Lord, no."
Her accent was convincing. The little doctor sat down by the fire and put
his hat and gloves on the table.
"Mrs. Brigg thought I was ill--you bein' a doctor," Cuckoo said, with an
attempt at a laugh. She felt nervous now, and was not sustained today by
the strung-up enthusiasm which had supported her in Harley Street. "Funny
there bein' a fog again this time, ain't it?"
"Yes.
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