His glance
upon the imitation lace was quick and gay, but Cuckoo did not see it. She
was gazing at the flowers, and when she entered the drawing-room and
found herself in the midst of the orchids, the West Indian flowers and
the palms, her astonishment knew no bounds.
"I never!" she murmured under her breath.
Then she forgot the flowers, having only time to remember to be shy.
Dinner was immediately announced by Wade, whose years of trained
discretion could not banish a faint accent of surprise from his voice.
He was, in fact, _boulevers?_ by this celebration of the death of the
old year. Valentine offered Cuckoo his arm. She took it awkwardly, with
a shooting glance of question at the doctor, who seemed her only spar in
this deep social sea. Valentine placed her beneath the bell of violets,
and took his seat beside her. Julian was on her other hand, the doctor
exactly opposite. Wade presented her with _hors-d'oeuvres._ Cuckoo
selected a sardine. She understood sardines, having met them at the
Monico. Valentine and the doctor began to talk. Julian ate slowly, and
Cuckoo stole a glance at him. His aspect startled her so much that she
with difficulty repressed a murmur of astonishment. He had the appearance
of one so completely exhausted as to be scarcely alive.
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