“So long as we refuse to do it, we are simply entering into a conspiracy with the man of loose life, so that he may escape the worst penalty of his evil-doing.  Take the boys in our own set—­why is it they feel safe in running off to the big cities and ’sowing their wild oats’—­even sowing them in the obscure parts of their own town?  Is it not because they know that their sisters and girl friends are ignorant and helpless; so that when they are ready to pick a wife, they will be at no disadvantage?  Here is Celeste; she knows that Roger has been ‘wild,’ but no one has hinted to her what that means; she thinks of things that are picturesque—­that he’s high-spirited, and brave, and free with his money.”

“But, my daughter,” protested the major, “such knowledge would have a terrible effect upon young girls!” He rose and began to pace the floor again.  “Daughter, you are letting yourself run wild!  The sweetness, the virginal innocence of young and pure women—­if you take that from them, there’d be nothing left to keep men from falling to the level of brutes!”

“Papa,” said Sylvia, “all that sounds well, but it has no meaning.  I have been robbed of my ‘innocence,’ and I know that it has not debased me.  It has only fitted me to deal with the realities of life.  And it will do the same for any girl who is taught by earnest and reverent people.  Now, as it is, we have to tell Celeste, but we tell her too late.”

“But we won’t have to tell her!” cried the major.

“Dear papa, please explain how we can avoid telling her.”

“I will inform her that she must give the young man up.  She is a good and dutiful daughter——­”

“Yes,” replied Sylvia, “but suppose on this one occasion she were to fail to be good and dutiful?  Suppose the next day you learn that she had run away and married Roger—­what would you do about it then?”

16.  That evening Roger was to take his fiancée to one of the young people’s dances.  And there was Celeste, in a flaming red dress, with a great bunch of flaming roses; she could wear these colours, with her brilliant black hair and gorgeous complexion.  Roger was fair, with a frank, boyish face, and they made a pretty couple; but that evening Roger did not come.  Sylvia helped to dress her sister, and then watched her wandering restlessly about the hall, while the hour came and went.  Later in the evening Major Castleman called up the Peyton home.  The boy was not there, and no one seemed to know where he was.

Nor the next day did there come any explanation.  At the Peytons it was still declared that no one had heard from Roger, and for another day the mystery continued, to Celeste’s distress and mortification.  At last, from Clive Chilton, Sylvia managed to extract the truth.  Roger was drunk—­crazy drunk, and had been taken off by some of the boys to be straightened out.