"I wish I hadn't," she answered bluntly.
"Why?"
"It don't matter. I started directly your wire came."
"That was good of you. Please sit down."
Cuckoo sat with a straight back in the straightest chair she could perceive. The doctor still remained standing by the fire. He appeared to be thinking deeply. His eyes looked downward at his gaily shining boots. After a minute or two he said:
"I speak to you now in strict confidence, trusting your secrecy implicitly."
The back of Cuckoo became less straight. Even a gentle curve made it more gracious if less admirable from the dancing-mistress point of view.
"Honour!" she interjected rapidly, like a schoolboy.
The doctor looked up at her and a smile came to his lips. And as he looked up he noticed the neatness of her black gown, the simplicity of her hat, the absence of paint and powder. Being, after all, only a man, he was surprised at Cuckoo's appearance of propriety. The four ladies had been surprised at her appearance of impropriety. But the doctor, seeing her so much better than usual, thought her—in looks—quite well, as indeed she was in comparison with the tout ensemble of her usual days. He looked from her black gloves, which held the thick black veil, to the winter sunshine sparkling, like a dancing, eager child, at the window.
"Do you like driving?" he said.