Mr. Brown brightened up as the door opened, but it was not Miss Alma who came in. The servant said to him:
“Mr. Temple is in the library, sir. Will you come this way!”
He followed and found the banker seated at his library table, on which he had just placed some legal-looking papers, bound together with a thick rubber band. It was evident that his work did not stop when he left the bank. Young Brown noticed that Mr. Temple looked careworn and haggard, and that his manner was very different from what it had been on the occasion of the last interview.
“Good evening, Mr. Brown. I am glad you called. I was on the point of writing to you, but the subject of our talk the other night was crowded from my mind by more important matters.”
Young Mr. Brown thought bitterly that there ought not to be matters more important to a father than his daughter’s happiness, but he had the good sense not to say so.
“I spoke to you on that occasion with a—in a manner that was—well, hardly excusable, and I wish to say that I am sorry I did so. What I had to state might have been stated with more regard for your feelings.”
“Then may I hope, Mr. Temple, that you have changed your mind with——”
“No, sir. What I said then—that is, the substance of what I said, not the manner of saying it—I still adhere to.”
“May I ask what objection you have to me?”
“Certainly. I have the same objection that I have to the majority of the society young men of the present day. If I make inquiries about you, what do I find? That you are a noted oarsman—that you have no profession—that your honors at college consisted in being captain of the football team, and——”