THE LADY OF THE FEATHERS BUCKLES ON HER ARMOUR

That evening Cuckoo remained in a condition of mingled terror and resolution.  There was something about Valentine that filled her, not merely with alarm, but with a nameless horror, indescribable and inveterate.  She felt that he was her deadly enemy and the enemy of Julian.  But he had cast such a spell over Julian that the latter was blinded and ready to follow him anywhere, and not merely to follow him, but to defend every step he took.  Cuckoo had a sense of entering upon a combat with Valentine.  As she stood upon the doorstep in Harley Street and faced him under the gas-lamp, were they not as antagonists definitely crossing swords for the first time?  It seemed so to her.  And the impression upon her was so strong and so exciting, that for once she broke through her invariable routine.  Instead of going to Piccadilly she went home to her lodgings.  It was about half-past nine when she arrived and opened the door with her latchkey.  Mrs. Brigg happened to be in the passage en route to the kitchen from some business in the upper regions.  She stared upon Cuckoo with amazement.

“What ever,” she began, her voice croaky with interrogation.  “Are you ill?  What are you back for?”

“I’m all right,” said Cuckoo crossly.  “Leave me alone, do.”

She turned into her sitting-room.  Mrs. Brigg followed, open-mouthed.

“Ain’t you a-goin’ out ag’in?”

“No; oh do leave off starin’.  What’s the matter with you?”

Mrs. Brigg heaved a thick sigh and shuffled round upon her heels, which made a noise upon the oilcloth like the boots of the comic man at a music-hall.

“Well,” she said with a sudden grimness, “I hope it’ll be all right about the rent, that’s all.”

She vanished, shaking her head, on which a stray curl-paper, bereft of its comrades of the morning, sat unique in a thin forest of iron-grey wisps.

Cuckoo shut her door and sat down to think.  But at first she had to receive the attentions of Jessie, who was even more surprised than Mrs. Brigg at her unexpected return, and who began to bark with shrill joy and run violently round the room with the speed of a rat emancipated from a cage.  As she would not consent to repose herself again, Cuckoo at last put her into the next room, on the bed, and shut the door on her.  Then she returned, lit all the three gas-burners and turned them full on, before she removed her hat, and definitely settled herself in for the evening.  She was fearful, and dreaded darkness, or even twilight.  The pulse of London beat round her while she stretched herself on the hard sofa, let down her touzled yellow hair, and frowned slowly as the unlearned do when they know that they want to meditate.