“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 embarrassing 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 embarrassing!” 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 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.”