Valentine saw by his frowning face and puckered
forehead that the idea of such a battle had set in motion a train of
thought in his mind.
"You are wondering, Julian," Valentine said.
Julian looked up.
"Who doesn't wonder in this beastly world?" he said morosely.
"I never do. I prefer to act. Drink some more champagne?"
He pushed the bottle over and went on:
"You are wondering why I spoke of a battle between Cuckoo Bright and me.
Well, I'll tell you. I spoke because I see that there is to be such a
battle."
Julian drank his champagne and looked definitely and increasingly
astonished, as Valentine continued:
"There is to be such a battle. I have seen it for a long time. Julian,
you may think you know women. You don't. I said just now that a woman
like Cuckoo Bright is nothing, but I said it for the sake of uttering
a paradox. No woman is ever nothing in a world that is full of the
things called men. No woman's ever nothing so long as there is a bottle
of hair-dye, a rouge-pot, a dressmaker, and--a man within reach. She may
be in the very gutter. That doesn't matter. For from the very gutter she
can see--not the stars, but the twinkling vanities of men, and they will
light her on her way to Mayfair drawing-rooms, even, perhaps, to Court.
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