"I say it again," Valentine reiterated almost fiercely. "The lady of the feathers is nothing, nothing at all. God and the devil--they have completely forgotten her. A creature like that is neither good, nor would I call her really evil, for she is evil merely that she may go on living, not because she has a fine pleasure in sin. But if you sell your will for bread and butter, you slip out of the world, the world that must be reckoned with. I say, Cuckoo Bright is nothing." "And I tell you she is something extraordinary." As Julian spoke the words the cab stopped at the Savoy. Valentine sprang out and paid the man. His face was flushed as if with heat, despite the piercing cold of the night. "A private room and supper for two," he said to the man in the vestibule. "Take my coat," and he drew himself with obvious relief from the embrace of his huge coat. Julian and he said nothing more until they were sitting opposite to one another at a small oval table in a small and strongly decorated room, whose windows faced the Thames Embankment. The waiter uncorked a bottle of champagne with the air of one performing a religious rite. The electric light gleamed and a fire chased the frost from recollection. Julian had already forgotten what they had been talking about in the cab. The first sip of champagne swept the heavy meditativeness from him. But Valentine, unfolding his napkin slowly, and with his eyes on the _menu_, said: "In what way is she something extraordinary?" "H'm?" Julian muttered. "Surely you can define it." "What, Val?" "The peculiarity of Cuckoo Bright that you laid so much stress on just now." "Oh, yes, now I remember. No, I can't define it. How good this soup is. The soup here--" "Yes, yes; our coming here again and again to eat it proves our appreciation. Julian, do endeavour to answer my question. I am really interested to know exactly what it is that has taken you again to Marylebone Road." Julian drank some more champagne. His eyes began to sparkle. "Can you give a reason for everything you do?" he asked. "I think I certainly could for every act that I reiterate." "Then you're built differently from me. But I've told you all I can. I like Cuckoo. She's a damned nice girl." Valentine's lip curled. "I can't agree with you, Julian." "You don't know her as I do." "Not quite." Julian reddened. "Come, now," he began, and then checked himself and laughed good-naturedly. "You can't play the saint any more, you know, Val," he said. "I have no wish to. I discovered long ago that a saint is only the corpse of a man, not a living man at all. But we are talking about this corpse of a woman." "Cuckoo's no corpse. By Jove, no. I believe she's got a power that no other woman has." "How so? You haven't been imagining that absurd flame in her eyes again?"