"Are we two going alone, dearie?"
"Well—it's a big box, you see. We should be lost in it."
"Oh."
She waited for further explanation, an obvious anxiety in her eyes.
"My friend Cresswell is coming with us. It's his box."
The gratification died away from the painted face. Cuckoo shook her head and pursed her lips in obvious and absurd disapprobation.
"Then I don't think I'll go. No; I won't."
And upon this Julian had to launch forth over a sea of expostulation and protest. Cuckoo possessed all the obstinacy of an ignorant and battered nature, taught by many a well-founded distrust, to rely upon its own feebleness, rather than upon the probably brutal strength of others. She was difficult to move, although she had no arguments with which to defend her assumption of the mule's attitude. At last Julian grew almost angry in defence of Valentine.
"Half the women in London would be proud to go with him," he said hotly.
"Not if they knew as much about men as I do," she answered.