"
Here Cuckoo succeeded in getting in a remark:
"Will," she said, catching hold of that one word and beginning to look
eager. "That's what he was at all the time he was talking to me that
night. Will, he says, is this and that and the other; will, he says, is
everythin', I remember. Will, he says, is my God, or somethin' like it.
He did. He did."
"Ah! you see; even you have noticed it."
"Yes; but he ain't mad, though," Cuckoo concluded, with an echo of that
obstinacy which she could never completely conquer. She said what she
felt. She could not help it. The doctor was in no wise offended by this
unskilled opinion opposed to his skilled one. He even smiled slightly.
"Why do you say that?" he asked.
"He's too sharp. He's a sight too sharp."
"Madmen are very cunning."
"So are women," Cuckoo exclaimed. "I could see if a man was mad."
She was a little intoxicated with the swift motion, the bright sun, the
keen air, the clang of the horse's hoofs on the hard roads, and, most of
all, with this conference which the befurred coachman was on no account
to hear. This made her hold fast to her opinion, with no thought of being
rude or presuming. The doctor, accustomed to have duchesses and others
hanging upon his words of wisdom, was whipped into a refreshed humour
by this odd attitude of an ignorant girl, and he replied with extreme
vivacity:
"You will think as I do one day.
Pages:
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599