“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?”

Ashley was startled.  “Chance?  What chance?  Who?”

“Davenant.”

Ashley grasped the back of his chair as though about to spring up.  “What’s he want a chance for?  Chance for what?”

“I might have said:  ‘Why don’t you give her a chance?’ She’s half in love with him—­as it is.”

“That’s a lie.  That’s an infernal lie.”

Ashley was on his feet.  He pushed the chair from him, though he still grasped it.  He seemed to need it for support.  Guion showed no resentment, continuing to speak with feverish quiet.

“I think you’ll find that the whole thing is predestined, Ashley.  Davenant’s coming to my aid is what you might call a miracle.  I don’t like to use the expression—­it sounds idiotic—­and canting—­and all that—­but, as a matter of fact, he came—­as an answer to prayer.”

Ashley gave a snort of impatience.  Guion warmed to his subject, dragging himself farther up on the couch and throwing the coverlet from his knees.

“Yes, of course; you’d feel that way about it—­naturally.  So should I if anybody else were to tell me.  But this is how it happened.  One night, not long ago, while you were on the water, I was so hard hit that I—­well, I actually—­prayed.  I don’t know that I ever did before—­that is, not really—­pray.  But I did then; and I didn’t beat about the bush, either.  I didn’t stop at half measures; I asked for a miracle right out and out—­and I got it.  The next morning Davenant came with his offer of the money.  You may make what you like out of that; but I make—­”

“I make this, by Jove; that you and he entered into a bargain that he should supply the cash, and you should—­”