“Go on, papa,” said Sylvia, gentle but firm.

“The poor boy—­naturally, Sylvia, he could not but feel hurt that I should think it necessary to ask such questions.  Such things are not done, my child.  It seemed to him that I must look upon him as—­well, as much worse than other young fellows——­”

The old man stopped, and began to walk restlessly up and down.  “Yes, papa,” said Sylvia.  “What else?”

“Well, he said it seemed to him that such a matter might have been left to the honour of a man whom I was willing to think of as a son-in-law.  And you see, my child, what an embarrassing position I was in; I could not give him any hint as to my reason for being anxious about these matters—­anything, you understand, that might be to the discredit of your husband.”

“Go on, papa.”

“Well, I gave him a fatherly talking to about his way of life.”

“Did you ask him the definite question as to his health?”

“No, Sylvia.”

“Did he tell you anything definite?”

“No.”

“Then you didn’t do what you had set out to do!”

“Yes, I did.  I told him that he must see a doctor.”

“You made quite clear to him what you wanted?”

“Yes, I did—­really, I did.”

“And what did he say?” She went to him and took his arm and led him to a couch.  “Come, papa, let us get to the facts.  You must tell me.”  They sat down, and the major sighed, lit a fresh cigar, rolled it about in his fingers until it was ruined, and then flung it away.

“Boys don’t talk freely to older men,” he said.  “They really never do.  You may doubt this——­”

“What did he say, papa?”

“Why, he didn’t know what to say.  He didn’t really say anything.”  And here the major came to a complete halt.

His daughter, after studying his face for a minute, remarked, “In plain words, papa, you think he has something to hide, and he may not be able to give you the evidence you asked?”

The other was silent.

“You fear that is the situation, but you are trying not to believe it.”  As he still said nothing, Sylvia whispered, “Poor Celeste!”

Suddenly she put her hands upon his shoulders, and looked into his eye.  “Papa, can’t you see what that means—­that Celeste ought to have been told these things long ago?”

“What good would that have done?” he asked, in bewilderment.

“She could have known what kind of man she was choosing; and she might be spared the dreadful unhappiness that is before her now.”

“Sylvia!  Sylvia!” protested the other.  “Surely such things cannot be discussed with innocent young girls!”