The Street Called Straight | Page 4

Henry?"
Drusilla had a way of appealing to whatever men were present, as
though her statements lacked something till they had received
masculine corroboration.
"All the same, I wish you could have managed the thing without giving
offence to Aunt Vic."
The words were Henry Guion's first since sitting down to table.
"I couldn't help it, papa. I didn't give Aunt Vic offence; she took it."

"She's always been so fond of you--"
"I'm fond of her. She's an old darling. And yet I couldn't let her marry
me off to a Frenchman, in the French way, when I'd made up my mind
to--to do something else. Could I, Cousin Cherry?"
Mrs. Temple plumed herself, pleased at being appealed to. "I don't see
how you could, dear. But I suppose your dear aunt--great-aunt, that
is--has become so foreign that she's forgotten our simple ways. So long
as you follow your heart, dear--"
"I've done that, Cousin Cherry."
The tone drew Davenant's eyes to her again, not in scrutiny, but for the
pleasure it gave him to see her delicate features suffused with a glow of
unexpected softness. It was unexpected, because her bearing had
always conveyed to him, even in the days when he was in love with her,
an impression of very refined, very subtle haughtiness. It seemed to
make her say, like Marie Antoinette to Madame Vigée-Lebrun: "They
would call me arrogant if I were not a queen." The assumption of
privilege and prerogative might be only the inborn consciousness of
distinction, but he fancied it might be more effective for being
tempered. Not that it was overdone. It was not done at all. If the inner
impulse working outward poised a neat, classic head too loftily, or shot
from gray eyes, limpid and lovely in themselves, a regard that was
occasionally too imperious, Olivia Guion was probably unaware of
these effects. With beauty by inheritance, refinement by association,
and taste and "finish" by instinct, it was possible for her to engage with
life relatively free from the cumbrous impedimenta of
self-consciousness. It was because Davenant was able to allow for this
that his judgment on her pride of manner, exquisite though it was, had
never been more severe; none the less, it threw a new light on his
otherwise slight knowledge of her character to note the faint blush, the
touch of gentleness, with which she hinted her love for her future
husband. He had scarcely believed her capable of this kind of
condescension.
He called it condescension because he saw, or thought he saw, in her

approaching marriage, not so much the capture of her heart as the
fulfilment of her ambitions. He admitted that, in her case, there was a
degree to which the latter would imply the former, since she was the
sort of woman who would give her love in the direction in which her
nature found its fitting outlet. He judged something from what Drusilla
Fane had said, as they were driving toward Tory Hill that evening.
"Olivia simply must marry a man who'll give her something to do
besides sitting round and looking handsome. With Rupert Ashley she'll
have the duties of a public, or semi-public, position. He'll keep her busy,
if it's only opening bazars and presenting prizes at Bisley. The
American men who've tried to marry her have wanted to be her
servants, when all the while she's been waiting for a master."
Davenant understood that, now that it was pointed out to him, though
the thought would not have come to him spontaneously. She was the
strong woman who would yield only to a stronger man. Colonel Ashley
might not be stronger than she in intellect or character, but he had done
some large things on a large field, and was counted an active force in a
country of forceful activities. There might be a question as to whether
he would prove to be her master, but he would certainly never think of
being her slave.
"What are you going to do, Henry, when the gallant stranger carries off
Olivia, a fortnight hence?"
Though she asked the question with the good intention of drawing her
host into the conversation, Mrs. Temple made it a point to notice the
effort with which he rallied himself to meet her words.
"What am I going to do?" he repeated, absently. "Oh, my future will
depend very much on--Hobson's choice."
"That's true," Miss Guion agreed, hurriedly, as though to emphasize a
point. "It's all the choice I've left to him. I've arranged everything for
papa--beautifully. He's to take in a partner perhaps two partners. You
know," she continued in explanation to Mrs. Fane--"you know that
poor papa has been the whole of Guion, Maxwell & Guion since Mr.

Maxwell died. Well, then, he's to take