Sylvia's Marriage Part 29

"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?"

The major hesitated and coughed; finally he said: "The boy drinks, Sylvia; further than that I have no knowledge."

"The medical books tell me that the use of alcohol tends to break down self-control, and to make continence impossible. And if that be true, you must admit that we have a right to ask a.s.surances. What do you suppose that Roger and his crowd are doing when they go roistering about the streets at night? What do they do when they go off to Mardi Gras?

Or at college--you know that Cousin Clive had to get him out of trouble several times. Go and ask Clive if Roger has ever been exposed to the possibility of these diseases."

"My child," said the major, "Clive would not feel he had the right to tell me such things about his friend."

"Not even when the friend wants to marry his cousin?"

"But such questions are not asked, my daughter."

"Papa, I have thought this matter out carefully, and I hava something definite to propose to you. I have no idea of stopping with what Clive Chilton may or may not see fit to tell about his chum. I want _you_ to go to Roger."

Major Castleman's face wore a blank stare.

"If he's going to marry your daughter, you have the right to ask about his past. What I want you to tell him is that you will get the name of a reputable specialist in these diseases, and that before he can have your daughter he must present you with a letter from this man, to the effect that he is fit to marry."

The poor major was all but speechless. "My child, who ever heard of such a proposition?"

"I don't know that any one ever did, papa. But it seems to me time they should begin to hear of it; and I don't see who can have a better right to take the first step than you and I, who have paid such a dreadful price for our neglect."

Sylvia had been prepared for opposition--the instinctive opposition which men manifest to having this embarra.s.sing subject dragged out into the light of day. Even men who have been chaste themselves--good fathers of families like the major--cannot be unaware of the complications incidental to frightening their women-folk, and setting up an impossibly high standard in sons-in-law. But Sylvia stood by her guns; at last she brought her father to his knees by the threat that if he could not bring himself to talk with Roger Peyton, she, Sylvia Castleman, would do it.

15. The young suitor came by appointment the next day, and had a session with the Major in his office. After he had gone, Sylvia went to her father and found him pacing the floor, with an extinct cigar between his lips, and several other ruined cigars lying on the hearth.

"You asked him, papa?"

"I did, Sylvia."

"And what did he say?"

"Why, daughter----" The major flung his cigar from him with desperate energy. "It was most embarra.s.sing!" he exclaimed--"most painful!" His pale old face was crimson with blushes.

"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 embarra.s.sing 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!"

"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."