Madame de Melcourt the chief novelty of American life, for the first few
days at least, lay in the absence of any necessity for striving. To wake
up in the morning into a society not keeping its heart hermetically shut
against her was distinctly a new thing. Not to have to plan or push or
struggle, to take snubs or repay them, to wriggle in where she was not
wanted, or to keep people out where she had wriggled in, was really
amusing. In the wide friendliness by which she found herself surrounded
she had a droll sense of having reached some scholastic paradise painted
by Puvis de Chavannes. She was even seated on a kind of throne, like
Justitia or Sapientia, with all kinds of flattering, welcoming
attentions both from old friends who could remember her when she had
lived as a girl among them and new ones who were eager to take her into
hospitable arms. It was decidedly funny. It was like getting into a
sphere where all the wishes were gratified and there were no more worlds
to conquer. It would pall in the end; in the end she would come to feel
like a gourmet in a heaven where there is no eating, or an Englishman in
some Blessed Isle where there is no sport; but for the moment it
offered that refreshing change which strengthens the spirit for taking
up the more serious things of life again. In any case, it put her into a
good-humor of which the residents at Tory Hill were the first to feel
the effect.
"Il est très bien, ton Anglais."
Olivia acknowledged this approval with a smile and a blush, as she went
about the drawing-room trying to give it something of its former air.
With the new turn of events it had become necessary to restore the house
to a condition fit for occupancy. Madame de Melcourt had moved into it
with her maid and her man, announcing her intention to remain till she
got ready to depart. Her bearing was that of Napoleon making a temporary
stay in some German or Italian palace for the purposes of national
reorganization and public weal. At the present instant she was enthroned
amid cushions in a corner of the sofa, watching Olivia dispose of such
bric-à-brac as had not been too remotely packed away.
"I always say," the old lady declared, "that when an Englishman is chic
he's very chic, and your Ashley is no exception. I don't wonder you're
in love with him."
When seated the Marquise accompanied her words with little jerkings and
perkings of her fluffy head, with wavings of the hands and rollings of
the eyes--the corelatives of her dartings and dashings while on her
feet.
It was easy for Olivia to keep her back turned, while she managed to
say: "He thinks you don't like him."
Madame shrugged her shoulders. "I like him as well as I could like any
Englishman. He's very smart. You can see at a glance he's some one. From
what I'd heard of him--his standing by you and all that--I was afraid he
might be an eccentric."
"Whom did you hear it from?"
"Oh, I heard it. There's nothing wonderful in that. A thing that's been
the talk of Boston and New York, and telegraphed to the London
papers--you don't suppose I shouldn't hear of it some time. And I came
right over--just as soon as I was convinced you needed me."
Olivia looked round with misty eyes. "I shall never forget it, Aunt Vic,
dear--nor your kindness to papa. He feels it more than he can possibly
express to you--your taking what he did so--so gently."
"Ma foi! The Guions must have money. When it comes to spending they're
not morally responsible. I'm the only one among them who ever had a
business head; and even with me, if it hadn't been for my wonderful
Hamlet and Tecla--But you can see what I am at heart--throwing two
million francs into your lap as if it were a box of bonbons."
"I'm not sure that you ought, you know."
"And what about the Guion family honor and all that? Who's to take care
of it if I don't? The minute I heard what had happened I held up my head
and said, Everything may go so long as the credit of the Guion name is
saved. N'est-ce pas? We can't live in debt to the old man who advanced
your papa the money."
"He isn't an old man at all," Olivia explained, quickly.
"Ça ne fait rien. His age isn't the question. I suppose he lent the
money expecting us to pay him back at a handsome rate of interest."
"No, he didn't. That's just it. He lent it to us--out of--out of--"
"Yes; out of what?"
"Out of pure goodness," she said, firmly.
"Fiddle-faddle! People don't do things out of pure goodness. The man who
seems to is either a sentimentalist or a knave. If he's a
sentimentalist, he does it for effect; if he's a knave, because it helps
roguery. There's always some ax to grind."
"I think you'd have to make an exception of Mr. Davenant."
"Davenant? Is that his name? Yes, I believe your papa did tell me
so--the boy Tom Davenant fished out of the slums."
With some indignation Olivia told the story of Davenant's birth and
adoption. "So you see," she went on, "he has goodness in his blood.
There's no reason why that shouldn't be inherited as much as--as
insanity--or a taste for alcohol."
"Stuff, dear! The man or the boy, or whatever he is, calculated on
getting something better than he gave. We must simply pay him off and
get rid of him. Noblesse oblige."
"We may get rid of him, Aunt Vic, but we can never pay him off."
"He'll be paid off, won't he, if we return his loan at an interest of
five--I'm willing to say six--per cent.?"
Olivia came forward, looking distressed. "Oh, I hope you won't, dear
Aunt Vic. I mean about the five or six per cent. Give him back his money
if you will, only give it back in the--in the princely way in which he
let us have it."
"Well, I call that princely--six per cent."
"Oh, please, Aunt Vic! You'd offend him. You'd hurt him. He's just the
sort of big, sensitive creature that's most easily wounded, and--"
"Tiens! You interest me. Stop fidgeting round the room and come and tell
me about him. Sit down," she commanded, pointing to the other corner of
the sofa. "There must be a lot I haven't heard."
If Olivia hesitated, it was chiefly because of her own eagerness to talk
of him, to sing his praises. Since, however, she must sooner or later
learn to do this with self-possession, she fortified herself to begin.
With occasional interruptions from her aunt she told the tale as she
understood it, taking as point of departure the evening when Davenant
came to dine at Tory Hill, on his return from his travels round the
world.
"So there was a time when you didn't like him," was Madame de Melcourt's
first comment.
"There was a time when I didn't understand him."
"But when you did understand him you changed your mind."
"I couldn't help it."
"And did you change anything more than your--mind?"
There was so much insinuation in the cracked voice that Olivia colored,
in spite of the degree in which she thought herself armed against all
surprises. It was a minute or more before she was prepared with an
answer.
"I changed my attitude toward him. Before that I'd been hostile and
insolent, and then--and then--I grew humble. Yes, Aunt Vic--humble. I
grew more than humble. I came to feel--well, as you might feel if you'd
struck a great St. Bernard dog who'd been rescuing you in the snow.
There's something about him that makes you think of a St. Bernard--so
big and true and loyal--"
"Did you ever think he might be in love with you?"
She was ready for this question, and had made up her mind to answer it
frankly. "Yes. I was afraid he was advancing the money on that account.
I felt so right up to--to a few days ago."
"And what happened then?"
"Drusilla told me he'd said he--wasn't."
Madame de Melcourt let that pass. "Did you think he'd fallen in love
with you all of a sudden when he came that night to dinner?"
She resolved to tell the whole truth. "I'd known him before. He asked me
to marry him years ago. And something happened. I hardly know how to
tell you. I didn't answer him."
"Didn't answer him?"
"I got up and walked away, right in the middle of--of what he was trying
to tell me."
"Ti-ens! And you had to take his money after all?"
Olivia bowed her head.
"Ça c'est trop fort," the old lady went on. "You're quite right then
when you say you'll never be able to pay him off, even if you get rid of
him. But he's paid _you_ off, hasn't he? It's a more beautiful situation
than I fancied. He didn't tell me that."