Philip was almost beside himself in view of this unforeseen calamity. Since the trouble has fallen upon his mother he had borne himself with more dignity and manliness than he had ever manifested. He had seemed to be suddenly transformed, and had been a veritable staff and support to her. He had even appeared somewhat softened toward Clifford upon learning how nobly considerate he had been and that he had given his word to preserve their secret inviolate.
But now, when he realized that he alone was Mr. Temple's heir, and that his mother and sister would be deprived of the luxuries to which they had always been accustomed, his old hatred revived with tenfold fury, and he became capable for the time of almost any crime in his desire to wreck vengeance upon his rival.
But Mrs. Temple proceeded to put her resolution into immediate action, and wrote a brief, courteous note to Clifford, requesting him to call at his earliest convenience, as she had a matter of the most vital importance to discuss with him.
He at once surmised something of the nature of the matter—for he knew that if he had not been mentioned in Mr. Temple's will he could break it if he chose—and accordingly presented himself at the Temple mansion that same evening.
Mrs. Temple received him cordially, but Phil, his mother having insisted that he should be present during the interview, barely accorded him a recognition.
Mrs. Temple came to the point at once, stating the case briefly, but plainly, and to say that Clifford was astonished upon learning that there was no will and that he alone was heir to the large fortune which Mr. Temple had left would not feebly express his feelings.
He had never once thought of such a contingency. He supposed, of course, that Mr. Temple had made his will, leaving everything to the woman he adored and the child he worshiped, and that they had sent for him simply to make terms with him to prevent him from making them any trouble in settling the estate. But to learn that there were no terms to be made—to learn that they had sent for him to relinquish everything, without a desire or a condition, except that he would reassure them of his willingness to keep their miserable secret, almost dazed him.
To most people that would have been a moment of signal triumph; but it was not in Clifford's nature to triumph in any one's misfortune, although it did flash upon him, as his mind reverted to that day when Philip Wentworth had so rudely saluted him—"Say, here! you window-washer!"—that the tables had been turned in a most wonderful manner.
It seemed like a dream to be sitting there and know that, for the moment, at least, he was a millionaire, while his old-time enemy and his proud mother were groveling before him in the valley of humiliation.
He listened gravely to all Mrs. Temple had to say, and his heart ached for her in her sorrow, and grew very tender toward her, as well, for was she not the mother of his young sister?