Poor Celeste, with pale, tear-drenched face, sent for her elder sister, to make one last appeal. Could Sylvia not somehow get hold of Roger and bring him to his senses? Could she not interview some of the other boys, and find out what he meant by his conduct? So Sylvia went to her cousin Clive, and had a talk with him--assuredly the most remarkable talk that that young man had ever had in his life. She told him that she wanted to know the truth about Roger Peyton, and after a cross-examination that would have made the reputation of a criminal lawyer, she got what she wanted. All the young men in town, it seemed, knew the true state of affairs, and were in a panic concerning it; that Major Castleman had sent for Roger and informed him that he could not marry his daughter, until he produced a certain kind of medical certificate. No, he couldn’t produce it! Was there a fellow in town who could produce it? What was there for him to do but to get drunk and stay drunk, until Celeste had cast him off? It was Clive’s turn then to do some plain speaking. “Look here, Sylvia,” he said, “since you have made me talk about this----” “Yes, Clive?” “Do you know what people are saying--I mean the reason the Major made this proposition to Roger?” She answered, in a quiet voice: “I suppose, Clive, it has something to do with Elaine.” “Yes, exactly!” exclaimed Clive. “They say--” But then he stopped. He could not repeat it. “Surely you don’t want that kind of talk, Sylvia?” “Naturally, Clive, I’d prefer to escape that kind of talk, but my fear of it will not make me neglect the protection of my sister.” “But Sylvia,” cried the boy, “you don’t understand about this! A woman _can’t_ understand about these things----” “You are mistaken, my dear cousin,” said Sylvia--and her voice was firm and decisive. “I _do_ understand.” “All right!” cried Clive, with sudden exasperation. “But let me tell you this--Celeste is going to have a hard time getting any other man to propose to her!” “You mean, Clive, because so many of them are----?” “Yes, if you must put it that way,” he said. There was a pause, then Sylvia went on: “Let us discuss the practical problem, Clive. Don’t you think it would have been better if Roger, instead of going off and getting drunk, had set about getting himself cured?” The other looked at her, with evident surprise. “You mean in that case Celeste might marry him?” “You say the boys are all alike, Clive; and we can’t turn our girls into nuns. Why didn’t some of you fellows point that out to Roger?” “The truth is,” said Clive, “we tried to.” There was a little more cordiality in his manner, since Sylvia had shown such a unexpected amount of intelligence. “Well?” she asked. “What then?” “Why, he wouldn’t listen to anything.” “You mean--because he was drunk?”