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?
When, at the close of her explanations, she begged him, for Minnie's sake, to take everything and welcome if he would only save them the disgrace of having the world learn the truth and point the finger of scorn at them, he flushed to his brows with wounded feeling.
"My dear madam," he said as she concluded, "I am wondering what your estimate of me can be! I assure you that I am as eager as yourself to keep these matters from the world. I may as well tell you that Mr. Temple offered to settle three hundred thousand dollars upon me upon the same condition; but I say to you now, as I said to him that evening, I cheerfully promise that, as far as I am concerned, the secret shall be inviolate, and I do not want--I will not have--a dollar of this fortune which you assert, and which I can understand, might be mine by the law of inheritance."
At this point Philip Wentworth turned and faced him for the first time during the interview, his face wearing an expression of profound astonishment.
"What are you saying?" he demanded sharply; "you do not intend to take any of Mr. Temple's money?"
"Not a penny, Wentworth," Clifford quietly returned.
"But--I do not understand it!" said Philip, with a blank stare of wonderment.
"It is very simple," returned Clifford, with a frank smile. "Mr. Temple never knew of my existence until a little over five years ago, and even after he learned the fact he manifested no interest in me. All his hopes and plans were centered in his daughter and her mother; his fortune was made for them, and he expected and intended that it would become theirs in the event of his death. Now, I feel that I have no more right to it, morally, than I have to the fortune of one of the Vanderbilts. I can see, as you do, that I might, according to the law governing such matters, claim it all if I was so disposed; but I assure you I want no part of it. Probably the world--if it were conversant with the circumstances--would judge me to be quixotic and say that my pride outweighed my judgment. Possibly, that may be true to a certain extent--I cannot quite define my own feelings regarding the matter; but," he concluded decidedly, "the fact remains--I will not touch it!"