"This is like last year."
"Like the year that the locust hath eaten," Valentine answered. "We must push our empty white years down into the water, Julian."
Julian made no reply. The table was soon arranged, the screen was drawn more closely round the fire, which had been allowed to burn low. Four chairs were set. Valentine turned to Cuckoo, who sat hunched on the divan staring with wide open eyes at these preparations.
"Will you come?" he said, with his hands on the back of one of the chairs.
"Whatever are we going to do?" she asked nervously.
"Something very simple—and perhaps very foolish," said the doctor, wondering, indeed, now the moment for beginning the phantasy was arrived, whether he was not to blame for encouraging a thing that in his under mind he so thoroughly disapproved of. "We are going to sit round that table in the dark with our hands upon it, and wait."
"Whatever for?"
Her simple and blatant question caused the doctor actually to blush. His confusion was quite obvious, but it was covered by Julian, who exclaimed, rather roughly:
"Now, Cuckoo, don't chatter, but come here and sit quiet."
He drew her from the divan into a chair and sat down beside her.
Valentine glided swiftly into the chair on her other side and said: