"You love Julian?"
"Me!" the lady of the feathers said.
Her voice trembled over the word. She stole a hasty, hunted glance at the doctor. Was he, too, going to jeer at her? Would no one allow her to have a clean corner in her heart?
"You're laughin' at me. What's the good of such as me doin' a thing like that—lovin' a man?"
"I think you must love Julian. If you do, perhaps you are meant to protect and save him."
A secret voice prompted the doctor with the words he spoke, gave them to him, bent him irresistibly to repeat them. Never before had he felt what it is to be between the strong hands of destiny.
"Me! Me save any one!" Cuckoo said, trembling.
"Yes, you. There is something in you—I feel it and I can't tell you why, nor what it is—something that has hold of Julian. He told us so the other night. Don't you know what it is?"
"Eh?"
"Perhaps he feels that you love him—purely, cleanly."