That's all."
"He was perfectly sober?"
"Oh, he hadn't been on the booze."
"Sober and did that, and then you can tell me that there is no madness in
him."
The doctor spoke almost in a bantering tone, but Cuckoo stuck to her
guns.
"I don't think it," she said, with her under lip sticking out.
"Well, Miss Bright, I want you to assume something."
"What's that?"
"To pretend to yourself that you think something, whether you do really
think it or not."
"Make believe!" cried Cuckoo, childishly.
"Exactly."
"What about?"
"I want you to 'make believe' that Mr. Cresswell is not himself--is not
sane."
"O-oh-h!" said Cuckoo, with a long intonation of surprise.
"I do honestly believe it; you are to pretend to believe it. Now,
remember that."
"All right."
"You are not to contradict any more, you see."
"Oh," began Cuckoo, in sudden distress. "Pardon. I didn't--"
"Hush! That's all right. Act with me on the make-believe or assumption
that Mr. Cresswell is not himself at present."
"Ah, but that ain't no make-believe. He told me as he wasn't himself when
he says, 'I am Marr.'"
"Yes--yes," said the doctor. Secretly, almost angrily, he said to himself
that Valentine, in some access of insanity, had actually confessed to the
lady of the feathers that he knew himself to be mad.
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