been born to be the lady of the feathers, and the wrecker, not of men's lives--she never thought of men tenderly in the mass--but of this one life, of this one man, whom she loved in a strange, wild, good-woman way. "C-r-r-r!" she said, her tongue flickering against her teeth. Jessie stirred in the blankets, came to the floor with a "t'bb" and ran into the room with curved attitudes of submission. But Cuckoo would not notice the little dog. She stared at the fire and looked so old, and almost intellectual. But there was nobody to see her. What a long, empty day it had been, this day for which she had risen eagerly as to a day of battle! What a long, empty day, and no deed done in it. And now the hour of the evening refrain was come. Cuckoo had wanted this day to be a special day, for it was the first of those new days which were to come after the doctor's word of hope. And nothing had happened in it. Nobody had come. The doctor was with his patients. Julian was--ah, surely--with Valentine. And she, Cuckoo, this poor, pale girl, who wanted to fight and to do battle, was alone. And she had been so eager in the morning. And now the night was falling and she had not struck a blow. The hour chimed. It was the hour of the evening refrain. Suddenly Cuckoo got up. She went over to the window and pulled down the blind so sharply that she nearly broke it. She struck a match violently and lit the gas. She ran into the bedroom, caught her hat, which lay ready for service on the top of the chest of drawers, and cast it with a crash into a cardboard box, jamming the lid down on it. She seized her jacket, which lay on the bed, and strung it up on a hook, as if she were hanging a criminal. Then she came back into the sitting-room, sat down in the chair, took up the evening paper of yesterday and began to read, with eyes that gleamed under frowning brows, about "Foreign Affairs" and "Bimetallism." And that night the evening refrain of Cuckoo's life did not follow the verse of her day. She sat there all alone. It was her way--the only way she could devise--of beginning to fight the battle for Julian. She did not stay at home with any thought of purifying herself by the action. Another day she might go out as usual. But Julian had once asked her not to go. She had gone then. Now she obeyed him, and the obedience seemed to bring him a little nearer to her. CHAPTER X THE DOCTOR DRIVES OUT WITH THE LADY OF THE FEATHERS Some days later Cuckoo received a telegram from Harley Street. It came in the morning, and ran as follows: "Call here to-day if possible. Important. Levillier."