Cuckoo
disposed, for an absurd sum, of her title deed, the headgear that had
given birth to her nickname. She was no longer the lady of the feathers.
The hat that had seen so much of her life reposed upon the head of
virtue, and knew Piccadilly no more. But Julian's present remained with
her, and indeed came into every-day use. And still Jessie sported her
yellow riband. Later there came a terrible time, when the eyes of
Cuckoo--appraising everything on which they looked--fell with that
fateful expression, not merely upon Jessie's yellow riband, but upon
Jessie herself. But that time was not quite yet.
While Cuckoo endured this fate, Dr. Levillier was in a perplexity of
another kind. The first round of that battle had ended in apparent
decisive defeat of Valentine's accusers. During the evening the fortunes
of war had certainly wavered to the doctor's side. Julian had displayed
sudden strong signs of an awakening; but the sitting had thrown him back
into his dream, had pushed him more firmly beneath the yoke of his
master. The doctor did not understand why, although he recognized the
fact; he could not divine the exact effect that disappointment would have
upon sudden suspicious eagerness. Julian had been waked to wonder, to
observe Valentine for an instant with new eyes, to look the mystery of
the great change in him in the face, and know it as a mystery.
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