Her accent was convincing. The little doctor sat down by the fire and put his hat and gloves on the table.
"Mrs. Brigg thought I was ill—you bein' a doctor," Cuckoo said, with an attempt at a laugh. She felt nervous now, and was not sustained today by the strung-up enthusiasm which had supported her in Harley Street. "Funny there bein' a fog again this time, ain't it?"
"Yes. I hope we shall meet some day in clear weather."
As the doctor said that, following a tender thought of the girl, he glanced round the room and at Cuckoo. "I hope so," he repeated. Then, rather abruptly:
"Two or three nights ago I went to dine with Mr. Addison. He was out. He was here with you."
Cuckoo got red. She could still be very sensitive with a few people, and perhaps Mrs. Brigg and her kind had trained her into irritable suspicion of suspicion in others.
"Only for a friendly visit," she said hastily. "Nothin' else. He would stop."
"I understand perfectly," the doctor said gently. Cuckoo was reassured.
"Did he say as he'd been?"
"Yes."