The Rogue's success meant everything to him—everything in the world. He would be obliged to win. Colonel Desha was not one who believed in publishing a daily “agony column.” He could hold his troubles as he could his drink—like a gentleman. He had not intended that Sue should be party to them, but that night of the confession they had caught him unawares. And he played the host to Mr. Waterbury as only a Southern gentleman can.
That the turfman had motives other than mere friendship and regard when proffering his advice and financial assistance, the colonel never suspected. It was a further manifestation of his childish streak and his ignorance of his fellow man. His great fault was in estimating his neighbor by his own moral code. It had never occurred to him that Waterbury loved Sue, and that he had forced his assistance while helping to create the necessity for that assistance, merely as a means of lending some authority to his suit. But Waterbury possessed many likable qualities; he had stood friend to Colonel Desha, whatever his motives, and the latter honored him on his own valuation.
Fear never would have given the turfman the entrée to the Desha home; only friendship. Down South hospitality is sacred. When one has succeeded in entering a household he is called kin. A mutual trust and bond of honor exist between host and guest. The mere formula; “So-and-So is my guest,” is a clean bill of moral health. Therefore, in whatever light Sue may have regarded Mr. Waterbury, her treatment of him was uniformly courteous and kindly.
Necessarily they saw much of each other. The morning rides, formerly with Garrison, were now taken with Mr. Waterbury. This was owing partly to the former's close application to the track, partly to the courtesy due guest from hostess whose father is busily engaged, and in the main to a concrete determination on Sue's part. This intimacy with Sue Desha was destined to work a change in Waterbury.
He had come unworthy to the Desha home. He acknowledged that to himself. Come with the purpose of compelling his suit, if necessary. His love had been the product of his animalistic nature. It was a purely sensual appeal. He had never known the true interpretation of love; never experienced the society of a womanly woman. But it is in every nature to respond to the highest touch; to the appeal of honor. When trust is reposed, fidelity answers. It did its best to answer in Waterbury's case. His better self was slowly awakening.
Those days were wonderful, new, happy days for Waterbury. He was received on the footing of guest, good comrade. He was fighting to cross the line, searching for the courage necessary—he who had watched without the flicker of an eyelash a fortune lost by an inch of horse-flesh. And if the girl knew, she gave no sign.
As for Garrison, despite his earnest attention to the track, those were unhappy days for him. He thought that he had voluntarily given up Sue's society; given it up for the sake of saving his skin; for the fear of meeting Waterbury. Time and time again he determined to face the turfman and learn the worst. Cowardice always stepped in. Presently Waterbury would leave for the North, and things then would be as they had been.
He hated himself for his cowardice; for his compromise with self-respect. It was not that he valued Sue's regard so lightly. Rather he feared to lose the little he had by daring all. He did not know that Sue had given him up. Did not know that she was hurt, mortally hurt; that her renunciation had not been necessary; that he had not given her the opportunity. He had stayed away, and she wondered. There could be but the one answer. He must hate this tie between them; this parent-fostered engagement. He was thinking of the girl he had left up North. Perhaps it was better for her, she argued, that she had determined upon renunciation.
Obviously Major Calvert and his wife noticed the breach in the Garrison-Desha entente cordiale. They credited it to some childish quarrel. They were wise in their generation. Old heads only muddle young hearts. To confer the dignity of age upon the differences of youth but serves to turn a mole-hill into a mountain.
But one memorable evening, when the boyish and enthusiastic major and Garrison returned from an all-day session at the track, they found Mrs. Calvert in a very quiet and serious mood, which all the major's cajolery could not penetrate. And after dinner she and the major had a peace conference in the library, at the termination of which the doughty major's feathers were considerably agitated.