“I like coming here,” he said; “and of course it’s nothing to Valentine where I go.”

Cuckoo glanced up hastily at the words.  A little serpent enmity surely hissed in them.  Julian spoke as if he were a man with some rebel feeling at his heart.  But the serpent glided and was gone as he added: 

“I’m always with him when I’m not with you, for I haven’t seen the doctor for ages.”

“The doctor!  Who’s that, then,” asked Cuckoo.

“Doctor Levillier.  Surely you’ve heard me talk about him.”

“No, dearie.”

“Oh, he’s a nerve-doctor, and a sort of little saint, lives for his work, and is a deuced religious chap, never does anything, you know.”

Julian looked at her.

“Oh,” she said.

“And believes in everything.  He’s a dear little chap, the kindest heart in the world, good to every one, no matter who it is.  He’s devoted to Valentine.”

“Eh?” said Cuckoo, with a long-drawn intonation of astonishment.

“I say he’s devoted to Valentine,” Julian repeated rather irritably.  His temper was much less certain and sunny lately than of old.  “But I believe he’s devoted to every one he can do any good to.  We used to see him continually, but he’s been abroad for weeks, looking after a bad case, a Russian Grand Duke in Italy, who would have him, and pays him all the fees he’d be getting in London.  He’ll be coming back directly, I think.”

“Where does he live?” said Cuckoo, ever so carelessly.

Julian gave the number in Harley Street rather abstractedly.  Their conversation had led him to think of the little doctor.  Would he be glad to see him again?  And would Valentine?  He tried to realize, and presently understood, and had a moment of shame at his own feeling.  Soon afterwards he went away.  That night, before she went to Piccadilly, Cuckoo walked round to Harley Street.  She wandered slowly down the long thoroughfare and presently came to the doctor’s house.  There was a brass plate upon the door.  The light from a gas lamp, just lit, flickered upon it, and Cuckoo, stopping, bent downwards and slowly read the printed name, “Doctor Levillier.”  Did it look a nice name, a kind name?  She considered that question childishly, standing there alone.  Then, without making up her mind on the subject, she turned to go.  As she did so she saw the tall figure of a man motionless under the gas-lamp on the other side of the street.  He was evidently regarding her, and Cuckoo felt a sudden thrill of terror as she recognized Valentine.  They stood still on the two pavements for a minute, looking across at one another.  Cuckoo could only see Valentine’s face faintly, but she fancied it was angry and distorted, and her terror grew.  She hesitated what to do, when he made what seemed to her a threatening gesture, and walked quickly away down the street.

CHAPTER VII