If misery chanced to stand once in his path, he seldom lost sight of it till he had at least tried to bring a smile to its lips, a ray of hope to its eyes. But in the instance of Cuckoo he had other reasons, or might have other reasons, for seeing her in the future.
"You are sure you have nothing more to say to me?" he asked.
She shook her head.
"No, I don't think," she murmured.
"Then good-bye."
He held out his hand. She put hers in it, with an action that was oddly ladylike for Cuckoo. Then she went out, rather awkwardly, in a reaction, to the hall, the doctor following. He opened the door for her, and the mist crawled instantly in.
"It's a gloomy night," he said. "Very autumnal."
"Yes, ain't it? I do hate the nights."
She spoke the words with an accent that was venemous.
"C-r-r!" she said.