She started, stirring uneasily on the great cushions that were heaped at her back.

“We are,” she said.

He shook his head.

“Not real friends.”

“Oh, we are all right.”

“D’you hate him still?”

“He don’t like me,” she answered, evasively.

“Yet he invites you here,” Julian said.  “Why does he do that?”

“I dunno,” Cuckoo said.

She wondered why.  Not so the doctor, to whom it had become evident that Valentine had asked his guests out of vanity, and with a view to some peculiar and monstrous display of his power over Julian.  While Cuckoo and Julian talked together on the divan Valentine came over to the doctor.  His eyes still held an expression of awe created in him by the strange new glance of the lady of the feathers.  He sought to conquer this sensation of awe, which fought fiercely against his intended blatant triumph of to-night.

“Your cigarette all right, doctor?” he said, in a quick voice.

“A delicious one, thanks.”

Valentine began touching the ornaments on the mantelpiece with nervous fingers.

“We didn’t quite finish our conversation at dinner,” he said.

“No?”

“I did not give you a reason for my belief.”

A deep interest woke in the doctor, but he did not show it.  He thought: 

“So, he must insanely return to this one subject, round which his brain makes an eternal tour.”

“No,” he said aloud; “you have a reason then?”

“Yes.”

Valentine’s voice vibrated with arrogance.  His hand still darted to and fro on the mantelpiece while he stood looking down at the doctor.  There was something in his manner that suggested a mixture of triumph and fighting anxiety in his mind.  But, as he continued to speak, the former got the upper hand.

“A reason that might convince even you if you knew it.”

“Convince me, of exactly what?” the doctor asked, indifferently.

His indifference seemed to pique Valentine, who replied with energy: 

“That human will can be cultivated, has been developed, until it has moved the mountain, achieved the thing men call a miracle.”

“By whom has it been so developed?”

Valentine hesitated almost like one who fears to be led into a trap.  The doctor could see “By me!” trembling upon his lips.  He didn’t actually utter it, but instead exclaimed with a laugh: 

“Some day you will discover.”

And as he spoke he looked at Julian and the lady of the feathers.  The doctor was anxious to lead him on, and leaning easily back in his comfortable chair, occupied himself with his cigarette for a minute, as a man calmly at ease.  Between his whiffs he presently threw out carelessly: 

“This man has compassed eternity by his own will?”

“Oh, I did not say that.”

“He has contented himself with curing a sprained ankle by walking upon it, like my Christian scientist?”