Guion smiled, but with a wince. "I've noticed," he said, "that there's a
certain kind of gossip that rarely gets about unless there's some cause
for it--on the principle of no smoke without fire. If you've heard
anything, it's probably true."

"I was afraid it might be. But in that case I wonder you allowed Olivia
to go ahead."

"I had to let fate take charge of that. When a man gets himself so
entangled in a coil of barbed wire that he trips whichever way he turns,
his only resource is to stand still. That's my case." He poured himself
out another glass of cognac, and tasted it before continuing. "Olivia
goes over to England, and gets herself engaged to a man I never heard
of. Good! She fixes her wedding-day without consulting me and
irrespective of my affairs. Good again! She's old enough to do it, and
quite competent. Meanwhile I lose control of the machine, so to speak. I
see myself racing on to something, and can't stop. I can only lie back
and watch, to see what happens. I've got to leave that to fate, or God,
or whatever it is that directs our affairs when we can no longer manage
them ourselves." He took another sip of cognac, and pulled for a minute
nervously at his cigar. "I thought at first that Olivia might be married
and get, off before anything happened. Now, it looks to me as if there
was going to be a smash. Rupert Ashley arrives in three or four days'
time, and then--"

"You don't think he'd want to back out, do you?"

"I haven't the remotest idea. From Olivia's description he seems like a
decent sort; and yet--"