There was a look almost of humor in Guion's forlorn eyes. "Well, I
didn't mean Davenant. I didn't suppose there was any--"
"Papa, darling," she hastened to say, "as things are at present I'd
rather not marry any one at all. There's so much for me to do in getting
life on another footing for us both that marriage seems to belong to
another kind of world."
He raised himself on his elbow, turning toward her. "Then why don't you
tell him so?"
"I have; but he won't take that as a reason. And, besides, I've said I
_would_ marry him if he'd give up this wild project--"
"But you're in love with him, aren't you? You may as well tell me," he
continued, as she colored. "I must have _some_ data to go on."
"I--I _was_ in love with him," she faltered. "I suppose I am still. But
while everything is as it is, I--I--can't tell; I--I don't know.
I'm--I'm feeling so many other things that I don't know whether I
feel--feel love--or not. I dare say I do. But it's like asking a man if
he's fond of playing a certain game when he thinks he's going to die."
He slipped down into bed again, pulling the coverlet about his chin and
turning his face away. As he said nothing more, she rose to go. "About
eleven, then, papa dear."
She could hear a muffled assent as she left the room. She was afraid he
was crying.
Nevertheless, when she had gone Guion rang for Reynolds and made his
usual careful toilet with uncommon elaboration. By the time his guest
arrived he was brushed and curled and stretched on the couch. If he had
in the back of his mind a hope of impressing Ashley and showing him that
if he, Guion, had fallen, it was from a height, he couldn't help it. To
be impressive was the habit of his life--a habit it was too late now to
overcome. Had he taken the Strange Ride with Morrowby Jukes, he would
have been impressive among the living dead. Curiously enough, too, now
that that possibility was past, he wondered if he didn't regret it. He
confessed as much to Ashley.
"I know what you've come for," he said, when Ashley, who had declined a
cigar, seated himself beside the couch.
"That means, I suppose, that Olivia has got ahead of me."
"She told me what you've proposed. It's very fine--very sporting."
"I haven't proposed it because it's either sporting or fine. It seems to
me the only thing to do."
"Y-es; I can understand that you should feel so about it. I should
myself if I were in your place and had a right to be generous. The
trouble is--that it wouldn't work."
Ashley would have given much not to feel this sudden exhilaration of
relief. It was so glowing that, in spite of his repugnance, he could
have leaned forward and wrung Guion's hand. He contrived, however, to
throw a tone of objection into his voice as he said: "Wouldn't work? Why
not?"
Guion raised himself on his elbow. "It's no use going over the arguments
as to the effect on your position. You've considered all that, no doubt,
and feel that you can meet it. Whether you could or not when it came to
the point is another question. But no matter. There are one or two
things you haven't considered. I hate to put them before you,
because--well, because you're a fine fellow--and it's too bad that you
should be in this fix. It's part of my--my--my chastisement--to have put
you there; but it'll be something to me--some alleviation; if you can
understand--to help to get you out."
Ashley was dumb. He was also uncomfortable. He hated this sort of thing.
Guion continued. "Suppose I were to let you go ahead on this--let you
raise the money--and take it from you--and pay Davenant--and all
that--then you might marry my daughter, and get life on some sort of
tolerable working basis. I dare say." He pulled himself forward on the
couch. Ashley noticed the blazing of his eyes and hectic color in his
cheeks. "You might even be happy, in a way," he went on, "if you didn't
have--_me_."
"Didn't have--you? I don't understand--"
"And you'd _have_ me. You couldn't get out of it. I'm done for--I'm no
good to any one any more--but I'm not going to die. That's my point.
That's my punishment, too. Can't you imagine what it means to a man like
me--who used to think well of himself--who's been well thought of--can't
you imagine what it is to have to inspire every one who belongs to him
with loathing? That's what I've got to do for the rest of my life--and
I'm going to _live_."
"Oh, I say!"
"You mayn't believe it, Ashley, but I'd rather have been--shut up--put
away--where people couldn't see me--where I didn't have to see them. You
know Olivia and I were facing that. I expect she's told you. And 'pon my
soul there are many ways in which it would have been easier than--than
this. But that's not what I'm coming to. The great fact is that after
you'd counted your cost and done your utmost you still have _me_--like a
dead rat strung round your neck--"
"Oh, I say, by Jove!"
"Olivia, poor child, has to bear it. She can, too. That's a remarkable
thing about us New England people--our grit in the face of disgrace. I
fancy there are many of our women who'd be as plucky as she--and I know
one man. I don't know any others."
Ashley felt sick. He had never in his life felt such repulsion as toward
what seemed to him this facile, theatrical remorse. If Guion was really
contrite, if he really wanted to relieve the world of his presence, he
could blow his brains out. Ashley had known, or known of, so many who
had resorted to this ready remedy for a desperate plight that it seemed
simple. His thoughts were too complex, however, for immediate
expression, and, before he could decide what to respond, Guion said:
"Why don't you give him a chance?"