He hated himself for his cowardice; for his compromise with
self-respect. It was not that he valued Sue's regard so lightly. Rather
he feared to lose the little he had by daring all. He did not know that
Sue had given him up. Did not know that she was hurt, mortally hurt;
that her renunciation had not been necessary; that he had not given her
the opportunity. He had stayed away, and she wondered. There could
be but the one answer. He must hate this tie between them; this
parent-fostered engagement. He was thinking of the girl he had left
up North. Perhaps it was better for her, she argued, that she had
determined upon renunciation.

Obviously Major Calvert and his wife noticed the breach in the
Garrison-Desha entente cordiale. They credited it to some childish
quarrel. They were wise in their generation. Old heads only muddle young
hearts. To confer the dignity of age upon the differences of youth but
serves to turn a mole-hill into a mountain.

But one memorable evening, when the boyish and enthusiastic major and
Garrison returned from an all-day session at the track, they found Mrs.
Calvert in a very quiet and serious mood, which all the major's cajolery
could not penetrate. And after dinner she and the major had a peace
conference in the library, at the termination of which the doughty
major's feathers were considerably agitated.

Mrs. Calvert's good nature was not the good nature of the faint-hearted
or weak-kneed. She was never at loss for words, nor the spirit to back
them when she considered conditions demanded them. Subsequently, when
his wife retired, the major, very red in the face, called Garrison into
the room.