"Will Mr. Clifford Faxon have the kindness to call this evening about nine o'clock at No. 54 —— Street? A matter of great importance is the excuse for the request. Very respectfully, William F. Temple."
Clifford was somewhat appalled as he read this, and readily understood that Squire Talford had taken matters into his own hands.
His whole soul arose in rebellion as he read the formal note, and his first impulse was to pen a curt refusal to comply with the writer's request. He had hoped that he need never meet the man again, now that he had learned who and what he was; this man, devoid of all honor, who, according to his own written statement, had deliberately set himself to win the love of a pure and innocent girl, just out of a spirit of rivalry with his brother, and then, as soon as he had become weary of his toy, he had remorselessly broken her heart by deserting her and leaving her in a strange city to fight the desperate battle of life alone.
His contempt for the man was beyond the power of expression, especially when he thought of how he had daringly ignored all moral and civil law by marrying another without taking any pains to ascertain whether his first victim was still living, and thus had entailed upon the second wife and her child irrevocably shame and sorrow.
Of course he understood that motives of revenge alone had prompted Squire Talford to precipitate matters in this way—that he would gloat over this opportunity to pay off, in a measure, the old scores which he had nursed for so many years, and his scorn for him was little less than that for his more daring and reckless brother.
But after giving the matter some serious thought, and realizing that a meeting between himself and Mr. Temple was bound to occur sooner or later, he decided to comply with his request, boldly declare the attitude which he intended to maintain toward him, and thus settle the matter for all time.
Accordingly the hour designated—nine o'clock—found him standing upon the marble steps of Mr. Temple's palatial residence ringing for admittance. A dignified butler admitted him to a reception-room and took his card to his master. He reappeared very shortly with a request from Mr. Temple that he would kindly step into the library.
As Clifford followed the man through the spacious hall he could not fail to observe everywhere the numerous evidences of great wealth and the exquisite taste displayed in the choice of furnishings, pictures, bric-a-brac, etc., and a pang of bitterness, mingled with righteous indignation, smote his heart as he recalled how his mother had toiled and struggled to eke out a miserable existence.
As he entered the luxurious library and the servant withdrew, closing the door after him, Mr. Temple came forward to greet him with extended hand, but with an almost colorless face and unsteady step.
"We have met before," he said, "we need no introduction——"