He said not a word, but she knew by the expression on his face that she had carried her point at last. He turned and left the room; and that was the last word she had with him, save for their formal parting in the presence of the family.
14. Roger Peyton was the son and heir of one of the oldest families in Castleman County. I had heard of this family before—in a wonderful story that Sylvia told of the burning of “Rose Briar,” their stately mansion, some years previously: how the neighbours had turned out to extinguish the flames, and failing, had danced a last whirl in the ball-room, while the fire roared in the stories overhead. The house had since been rebuilt, more splendid than ever, and the prestige of the family stood undiminished. One of the sons was an old “flame” of Sylvia’s, and another was married to one of the Chilton girls. As for Celeste, she had been angling for Roger the past year or two, and she stood now at the apex of happiness.
Sylvia went to her father, to talk with him about the difficult subject of venereal disease. The poor major had never expected to live to hear such a discourse from a daughter of his; however, with the blind child under his roof, he could not find words to stop her. “But, Sylvia,” he protested, “what reason have you to suspect such a thing of Roger Peyton?”
“I have the reason of his life. You know that he has the reputation of being ‘fast’; you know that he drinks, you know that I once refused to speak to him because he danced with me when he was drunk.”
“My child, all the men you know have sowed their wild oats.”
“Papa, you must not take advantage of me in such a discussion. I don’t claim to know what sins may be included in the phrase ‘wild oats.’ Let us speak frankly—can you say that you think it unlikely that Roger Peyton has been unchaste?”
The major hesitated and coughed; finally he said: “The boy drinks, Sylvia; further than that I have no knowledge.”
“The medical books tell me that the use of alcohol tends to break down self-control, and to make continence impossible. And if that be true, you must admit that we have a right to ask assurances. What do you suppose that Roger and his crowd are doing when they go roistering about the streets at night? What do they do when they go off to Mardi Gras? Or at college—you know that Cousin Clive had to get him out of trouble several times. Go and ask Clive if Roger has ever been exposed to the possibility of these diseases.”
“My child,” said the major, “Clive would not feel he had the right to tell me such things about his friend.”
“Not even when the friend wants to marry his cousin?”