"No, no," Olivia corrected again, smiling. "That was the day Aunt Vic landed. You're getting every one mixed."
"But they came together," Ashley persisted. "He brought her. Didn't you?"
The look on Olivia's face frightened Davenant. He got up and stood apologetically behind his chair. "You'll have to forgive me, Miss Guion," he stammered. "I—I deceived you. I couldn't think of anything else to do."
She leaned forward, looking up at him. "But I don't know what you did, as it is. I can't understand—what—what any one is saying."
"Then I'll tell you, by Jove! All the time you thought he was out there at Michigan he was over in France, following up the Marquise. Tracked her like a bloodhound, what? Told her the whole story—how we'd got to a deadlock—and everything. Made her think that unless she came and bailed us out we'd be caught there for the rest of our lives."
Olivia's eyes were still lifted to Davenant's. "Is that true?"
"It's true, by Jove!—true as you live. What's more, he cracked me up as though I was the only man alive—said that when it came to a question of who was worthy—worthy to marry you—he wasn't fit to black my boots."
"No," Davenant cried, fiercely. "There was no question of me."
"Bosh! Bosh, my good fellow! When a man does what you've done there's no question of any one but him."
The color was hot in Davenant's cheeks, but he himself could not have told whether it came from astonishment or anger. "Since Colonel Ashley knows so well what happened, I shall leave him to tell it."