She sat watching him for a few moments, wondering at him.  Then she said, “You are willing to stay on here, day after day, pursuing me in the only refuge I have.  Well then, I shall not consider your feelings.  I have a work to do here—­and I think that when I begin it, you will want to be far away.”

“What do you mean?” he asked—­and he looked at her as if she were really a maniac.

“You see my sister Celeste is about to marry.  That was the wonderful news she had to tell me at the depot.  It happens that I have known Roger Peyton all my life, and know he has the reputation of being one of the ‘fastest’ boys in the town.”

“Well?” he asked.

“Just this, Douglas—­I do not intend to leave my sister unprotected as I was.  I am going to tell her about Elaine.  I am going to tell her all that she needs to know.  It is bound to mean arguments with the old people, and in the end the whole family will be discussing the subject.  I feel sure you will not care to be here under such circumstances.”

“And may I ask when this begins?” he inquired, with intense bitterness in his tone.

“Right away,” she said.  “I have merely been waiting until you should go.”

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?”