"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'v