"But I haven't."
"Well, no matter! Suppose I had done what you've done—and you were in my place—would you, as a man—simply as a man, mind you—be willing to go off with the lady whom I had freed from great anxiety—to say the least—and be happy forever after—and so forth—with nothing but a Thank-you-sir? Come now! Would you?"
It was evident that Davenant was shy of accepting this challenge. He colored and looked uneasy—all the more so because Olivia lifted her eyes to him appealingly, as though begging him to come to her support. It was perhaps in the belief that he would do so that she said, earnestly, leaning forward a little:
"Tell him, Mr. Davenant, tell him."
"I don't see what it's got to do with me—" Davenant began to protest.
"It's got everything to do with you," Ashley broke in. "Since you've created the situation you can't shirk its responsibilities."
"Tell him, Mr. Davenant, tell him," Olivia repeated. "Would you, or would you not?"
He looked helplessly from one to the other. "Well, then—I wouldn't," he said, simply.
"There you are!" Ashley cried, triumphantly, moving away from the wall and turning toward Olivia.
She was plainly disappointed. Davenant could so easily have said, "I would." Nevertheless, she answered quietly, picking up the paper-knife that lay on the table and turning it this way and that as though studying the tints of the mother-of-pearl in the dying light: