“I just hate you!”

All her jealousy rang in that cry, smothering the whisper of the maternal passion that went ever with it.  Julian could no longer doubt the truth of Valentine’s words.

“Cuckoo, don’t be silly,” he said hastily, and awkwardly enough.

“Silly!” she burst out.  “What do I care for that?  I ain’t silly, either, and I ain’t blind like you are.  I can see where you’re goin’.”

“I shall go away from here,” Julian said, trying to laugh, “if you talk in this ridiculous way.”

She sprang up and ran passionately in front of the door, as if she thought he was really going to escape.

“No, you don’t,” she said, and her accent seemed to draw near to that of Whitechapel as her voice rose higher.  “Not till I’ve said what I mean.”

“Hush, Cuckoo!  We shall have Mrs. Brigg up, thinking I’m murdering you.”

“Let her come!  And you are, that’s what you are, murderin’ me, and worse, seein’ you go where you’re goin’.  He’s takin’ you.  It’s all him.  Yes, it is!  He’ll make you as he is.”

“Cuckoo, I won’t have it.”

Julian spoke sternly and got up.  The little dogs, alarmed by the tumult, had begun to whine uneasily, and at his movement Jessie barked in a thin voice.  Julian went to Cuckoo, took her wrists in his two hands, and drew her away from the door; but she tore herself from his grasp with fury, for the touch of his hands gave a clearer vision to her jealousy of his secret deeds, and made her understand better the depth of her present feeling.

“You shall have it,” she cried.  “You shall.  I know men.  I know what you’ll be.  I know what women’ll make of you.”

“A man makes himself,” Julian interrupted.

“Rot!  That’s all you know about it.  I’ve seen them begin so nice and go right down, like a stone in a well.  And they never come up again.  Not they.  No more’ll you.  D’you hear that?”

“I shall hear you better if you speak lower.”

Cuckoo suddenly changed from a sort of frenzy to a violent calm.

“You’re different already,” she said.  “Can’t I see it?”

As if to emphasize her remark she approached her face quite close to his in the twilight.  While they had been arguing a cloud had passed over the sun, and dimness increased in the little room.  Both of them were still standing up, and now Cuckoo peered into Julian’s eyes with almost hungry scrutiny.  Her lips were still trembling with excitement and her mouth was contorted into a sideways grin, expressive of contemptuous knowledge of the descent of Julian’s nature.  She was a mere mask of passion, no doubt a ridiculous object enough, touzled, dishevelled and shaken with temper, as she leaned forward to get a better view of him.  And Julian was both vexed and disgusted by her outbreak, and sick of a scene which, like all men, he ardently hated and would have given much to avoid.  He faced her coldly, endeavouring to calm her by banishing every trace of excitement from his expression.