"
"I do--oh! I do that!" Cuckoo cried.
A wonder as to the relations between Julian and this girl shot through
the doctor. He was the last man in the world to think evil of any one,
but just then, as Cuckoo moved, the gaslight struck fully on her. The dye
on her hair shone crudely. The red and white of her face burned as on the
face of a clown. And then even the doctor's good heart wondered. Cuckoo
knew it in an instant, and her face hardened and looked older.
"Oh, go on," she said rudely. "Think as the others do. Damn you men! Damn
you! Damn you!"
And without warning she put her head down on the table and broke into a
wild passion of tears. She sobbed, and as she sobbed she cursed and
clenched her hands. She lost herself in fury and in despair. The Fates
had stung her too hard this time, and she must blaspheme against them
with her voice of the streets, her language of the streets, her poor
heart--not quite of the streets. The Fates had stung her too hard, for
they had put a flaw even in this one self-respect of hers. That one
night accused her whenever she thought of Julian, whenever she saw the
dissipation deepen round his eyes. She was not to have even one thing
that she could be quite proud of; not one thing of which she could say,
"This has been always pure.
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