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.”