P'rhaps he was only gamin' me."
She stared moodily at her feet, which she had stuck out from under her
dress. The doctor said nothing, but at her last speech his face had lit
up with a sort of excitement. For had she not described in those few
ill-chosen words the very mental position of the former Valentine? A
saint at first with his will, a saint at last against his will--and now
a saint no more. That was, perhaps, the key to the whole matter. A good
man prays to be no longer good. His prayer is granted. His grievous
desire is fulfilled. And then he may pray forever in vain to be as he
once was. Yet the change in Valentine was more even than this, more
than the gliding from white purity to black sin. There was something.
As Cuckoo and the doctor sat in silence, she staring vacantly and empty
of thought, being now utterly and chaotically puzzled, he thinking
deeply, the door bell rang. In a moment Mrs. Brigg appeared, went to
Cuckoo and muttered in her ear:
"Mr. Haddison wants to come in. I told him you was busy."
"Oh," said Cuckoo, "I say--wait," and then to the doctor, "It's him. It's
Julian."
"Let him in," the doctor said quickly.
To see Cuckoo and Julian together might tell him much.
Julian came in, stumbling rather heavily at the entrance of the room.
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