The squire had been out to post some letters at the nearest box, and was returning to his boarding-place when the two met on a corner.
Clifford flushed slightly, and was greatly surprised to see the man so far from home, but with the politeness which always characterized him, lifted his hat and cordially saluted him. The man shot a frowning glance at him and passed on without a word, as if he had been a total stranger to him. Possibly, if Clifford had been shabbily clad and had not looked so prosperous, happy, and handsome, he might not have been quite so churlish; but it made him secretly furious to see him clothed better than himself, a fact which plainly indicated to him that he was still making his way steadily upward, while his buoyant air and alert, energetic step told of perfect health and a heart at peace with the world.
The slight stung Clifford for the instant, but, replacing his hat and straightening himself with an air of conscious superiority, he went on his way, and half an hour later had forgotten the existence of the man.
He had far more interesting things to think about just then, for he and Mollie were laying their plans for the most important event of their lives—their marriage, which it had been decided should take place some time during the latter part of January.
Several times during the next three weeks Clifford met the squire, and, out of respect for his years, invariably saluted him in a gentlemanly manner, but always with the same result—the man as often passed him with a cold stare and without moving a muscle of his hard, forbidding face.
"I wonder why he has always hated me so?" Clifford mused upon one of these occasions. "I served him faithfully during the four years that I lived with him—my conscience is clear of ever having once wilfully disobeyed him or neglected my work. I cannot understand how one human being can entertain such an unreasonable grudge against another. I am sure I have no desire to exchange places with him, rich as he is, for I think it must be very uncomfortable to hate one as he seems to me. I wish Mollie could meet him—she reads faces like books, and I really would like to know what her analysis of his character would be."
He had his wish granted not very long afterward. Squire Talford stepped into a stationery-store one afternoon on his way home to dinner, to lay in a fresh supply of paper and envelopes. He had observed before entering that a very handsome equipage was standing before the door, for being fond of fine horses, and a good judge of them, as well, he never passed them unnoticed.
He even turned to take a second look out of the window of the store before making his purchase, and found himself wondering who could be the fortunate owner of the blooded pair, while his appreciative eyes also took in the elegant appointments of the carriage and harness and the liveried coachman and footman.
Presently he turned to the counter, and found himself standing beside a beautiful girl, very richly attired. She was sitting on a stool, evidently waiting for something, and after giving his own order, Squire Talford's glance wandered again to the vision of loveliness beside him, noting her delicate, high-bred features, her wonderfully blue eyes, and hair of shining gold.
A clerk came to her after a moment or two and apologized for the necessity of keeping her waiting still longer—something seemed to have gone wrong with the order she had given.