So Sylvia went to her cousin Clive, and had a talk with him—assuredly the most remarkable talk that that young man had ever had in his life. She told him that she wanted to know the truth about Roger Peyton, and after a cross-examination that would have made the reputation of a criminal lawyer, she got what she wanted. All the young men in town, it seemed, knew the true state of affairs, and were in a panic concerning it; that Major Castleman had sent for Roger and informed him that he could not marry his daughter, until he produced a certain kind of medical certificate. No, he couldn’t produce it! Was there a fellow in town who could produce it? What was there for him to do but to get drunk and stay drunk, until Celeste had cast him off?
It was Clive’s turn then to do some plain speaking. “Look here, Sylvia,” he said, “since you have made me talk about this——”
“Yes, Clive?”
“Do you know what people are saying—I mean the reason the Major made this proposition to Roger?”
She answered, in a quiet voice: “I suppose, Clive, it has something to do with Elaine.”
“Yes, exactly!” exclaimed Clive. “They say—” But then he stopped. He could not repeat it. “Surely you don’t want that kind of talk, Sylvia?”
“Naturally, Clive, I’d prefer to escape that kind of talk, but my fear of it will not make me neglect the protection of my sister.”
“But Sylvia,” cried the boy, “you don’t understand about this! A woman can’t understand about these things——”
“You are mistaken, my dear cousin,” said Sylvia—and her voice was firm and decisive. “I do understand.”
“All right!” cried Clive, with sudden exasperation. “But let me tell you this—Celeste is going to have a hard time getting any other man to propose to her!”