"Surely you can define it."
"What, Val?"
"The peculiarity of Cuckoo Bright that you laid so much stress on just
now."
"Oh, yes, now I remember. No, I can't define it. How good this soup is.
The soup here--"
"Yes, yes; our coming here again and again to eat it proves our
appreciation. Julian, do endeavour to answer my question. I am really
interested to know exactly what it is that has taken you again to
Marylebone Road."
Julian drank some more champagne. His eyes began to sparkle.
"Can you give a reason for everything you do?" he asked.
"I think I certainly could for every act that I reiterate."
"Then you're built differently from me. But I've told you all I can.
I like Cuckoo. She's a damned nice girl."
Valentine's lip curled.
"I can't agree with you, Julian."
"You don't know her as I do."
"Not quite."
Julian reddened.
"Come, now," he began, and then checked himself and laughed
good-naturedly. "You can't play the saint any more, you know, Val,"
he said.
"I have no wish to. I discovered long ago that a saint is only the corpse
of a man, not a living man at all. But we are talking about this corpse
of a woman."
"Cuckoo's no corpse. By Jove, no. I believe she's got a power that no
other woman has.
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