A flash of childish cunning crept into her eyes and mouth, giving her the aspect of a gamin.

“No; I ain’t such a fool,” she answered.  “Men don’t like to be told the truth.  Do they, now?”

The question went to Julian.

“Why not?” he asked

“Oh, they like to be fooled.  If you don’t fool them, they fool you.”

“A sufficiently clear statement of the relations of the sexes through all time,” said Valentine.  “Have you ever studied Schopenhauer?”

“Ah, now, you’re kiddin’ me!” was her not inappropriate answer.

She was getting a little more at her ease, but she still stole frequent furtive glances at Valentine from time to time, and moved with an uncomfortable jerk if he bent forward to her or seemed about to come near to her.  He seemed now really interested in her personality, and Julian began to wonder if its very vulgarity came to him with a charm of novelty.

“Kidding?” Valentine said, interrogatively.

“Gettin’ at me!  Pullin’ my leg!  Oh, I know you!” cried Cuckoo.  “I’m up to all them games.  You don’t get a rise out of me.”

“The lady speaks in parables,” Valentine murmured to Julian.  “I assure you,” he added aloud, “I am speaking quite seriously.”

“Oh, seriously be hanged!” said Cuckoo, recklessly.  “You’re a regular funny feller.  Oh yes.  Only don’t try to be funny with me, because I’m up to all that.”

She seemed suddenly bent on turning the tables on one whom she apparently regarded as her adversary.  Some people, when they do make an effort of will, are always carried forward by the unwonted exertion into an almost libertine excess.  Miss Bright’s timidity was now developing into violent impudence.  She tossed her head till the gigantic shadow of the sarcophagus that crowned it aspired upon the wall almost to the ceiling.  She stuck her feet out upon the stool aggressively, and her arms instinctively sought the akimbo position that is the physical expression of mental hardihood in vulgar natures.

“Go along!” she said.

Valentine pretended to take her at her word.  He got up.

“Where shall I go?  I am your slave!”

She laughed shrilly.

“Go to blazes if you like.”

Valentine crossed to the door, and, before Julian had time to speak, opened it and quietly vanished.  Julian and Cuckoo were left staring at one another.  The latter’s impudence had suddenly evaporated.  Her face was working as if she was astonished and afraid.

“What’s he after?  What’s he after, I say?” she ejaculated.  “Go and see.”

But Julian shook his head.

“It’s all right.  He has only done it for a joke.  He will be back directly.”

“Yes, but—­but.”

She seemed really frightened.  Julian supposed she realized her rudeness vaguely, and imagined she had made an abominable faux pas.  Acting on this supposition, he said reassuringly: