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 tres 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-a-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.”