PHILIP'S MAD PLEA.
Five hours later Mollie, clad in a trailing robe of pale-yellow satin,
and looking a veritable princess, with her shining hair coiled high upon
her shapely head and encircled with a tiara of diamonds, stood in the
drawing-room of the residence of the English ambassador making her
obeisance to that distinguished gentleman and his courtly wife.
She was accompanied by her father, who was now the picture of health,
whose every movement was replete with vigor and almost youthful energy;
for, as he claimed, after fifty years of aimless groping he was just
beginning to learn how to live. Clifford was also with them, but
following a step or two in the rear, and, with his fine face and manly
bearing, there was not a handsomer man in the room. Their salutations
over, they moved aside to make way for others, when a beautiful girl,
all in white, except that she wore a great bunch of scarlet poppies in
her belt, stepped forward and extended a faultlessly gloved hand to
Clifford.
"I am sure that Mr. Faxon is not one to forget his old friends," she
smilingly observed, while her face glowed with undisguised pleasure at
the meeting.
"Miss Athol!" he exclaimed, as he cordially clasped her hand, "this is
indeed an unexpected pleasure! Of course, I could not forget you, and I
am most happy to meet you again."
"The pleasure is mutual, I assure you," Miss Athol heartily returned,
"neither have I forgotten the auspicious occasion of our last meeting at
Harvard, while too"--with a significant glance--"there are some other
memories that haunt me. Mr. Faxon, when I think of that terrible
accident and that awful descent that you made over the precipice I grow
faint and dizzy even now."
"Then please don't think of it," said Clifford, laughing, and, anxious
to change the subject, he added: "Allow me to inquire if this is your
first visit to Washington?"
"Oh, no; we have all been here a number of times, but papa was elected
Senator for our district this winter, and we are going to be located
here for the present. He has been in town some weeks, but mama and I
arrived only last Saturday," Gertrude explained. Then she added,
smiling, "How singular that you also should have drifted to Washington
just at this time!"
"Yes, we meet people where we least expect to, sometimes. I have been
here for more than a year, and have a position in the Patent Office
Department."
"Climbing all the time, I am sure," said the girl, as her glance swept
his handsome face and figure with a thrill of admiration. "I knew you
would. I should not be in the least surprised to find you located in the
White House some day."
"Oh, Miss Athol! I beg that I may escape the responsibilities of such a
position," Clifford exclaimed, flushing to his temples and feeling
decidedly uncomfortable to be so lauded. Then, with a sudden thought, he
continued: "But now I am going to ask the privilege of presenting you to
a friend whom I am sure you will find very congenial--may I?"
"Certainly. I shall be delighted to meet any friend of yours, Mr.
Faxon," said Gertrude cordially.
Clifford turned to attract the attention of Mollie, who had been
exchanging greetings with a prominent society woman, and a moment later
he had introduced the two girls to each other.
The moment Miss Athol looked into Mollie's beautiful face and observed
the tender glance which Clifford bestowed upon her, she knew
instinctively that she had met the woman whom he was to marry.
"And she is worthy of him, which is saying a great deal for her," she
mentally affirmed. "She is exquisitely lovely, but the best in the land
is none too good for Clifford Faxon."
The young ladies appeared to be instantly attracted to each other, and
in less than ten minutes felt as if they had been acquainted for years,
and would be friends for the remainder of their lives.
In a corner, not far from this interesting group, and curiously watching
the brilliant throng all about him, stood Squire Talford. And the man,
if one did not closely observe his cold gray eyes and the cruel, cynical
expression about his mouth, made quite a fine appearance in his
evening-attire.
He had never been anything of a society man, but since he was in
Washington he was determined to go the whole figure and see all there
was to be seen, and as money was no object where his own gratification
was concerned, he easily found ways of obtaining the entrée to
fashionable circles.
He had observed Mollie when she entered the room, and instantly
recognized her as the young lady who had restored his wallet to him that
afternoon. He had thought her a remarkably pretty girl at that time, but
now, in her evening-costume, she seemed a hundred-fold more lovely, and
he was positively fascinated by her beauty.
He also noted the richness of her dress and costly jewels, and, at once
recalling the fine equipage which he had seen before the stationer's
store, decided that she must be the daughter of some very wealthy man.
Her loveliness and charm of manner grew upon him continually, and he
became anxious to learn more about her. He sought a gentleman whom he
knew, and after chatting for a few moments upon current events, suddenly
broke off and remarked:
"I've been watching that young woman in yellow over there; can you tell
me who she is?"
"Ah, yes; that is Miss Heatherford. She's an out-and-out beauty, isn't
she? A regular stunner!" was the animated reply. "She is one of the most
attractive young ladies in Washington this winter, and a favorite
wherever she goes. She is rich, also--has a handsome fortune in her own
right, although a year ago this time she was working for a living in
this city."
"Can that be possible?" inquired the squire, and appearing to be deeply
interested in the gentleman's statements.
"Yes, and that is her father, that fine-looking man with the snow-white
hair. Five years ago he was known as one of the money-kings of New York,
but he lost every dollar of it by a series of misfortunes, and came here
and went to work as a clerk for the government. Then he was taken ill,
lost his position, and was reduced almost to the verge of beggary; but
his daughter, like the true-blue she is, came nobly to the front, got a
situation as private secretary to a wealthy old Frenchman who had some
mission to this country, and supported herself and her father."
"But where did she get her present fortune?" inquired Squire Talford.
"Well, it is quite a story, and I cannot go into the details just now,"
his companion replied, "but the girl proved herself a heroine in two or
three instances, and saved the life of the Frenchman's grandchild,
prevented a robbery in the house, and won his confidence to such an
extent that he made her the guardian of the child, to whom he left an
immense amount of money, and a snug sum to Miss Heatherford herself. She
has only recently appeared in society here, but every one has fallen in
love with her--men and women alike. She is spoken for, however, for she
is soon going to marry a fine fellow who bids fair to become a prominent
man in the world if he keeps on as he has begun, for he is as smart as
chain-lightning--there he is now, just in the act of introducing a lady
to Miss Heatherford."
Squire Talford started and flushed crimson as he instantly recognized
Cliff. He had not observed him before, and now to find him in that
brilliant assemblage, and apparently received on an equal footing with
the most distinguished, was a shock which he had not been prepared for.
"Humph! So she is going to marry him!" he managed to say without
betraying how much he had been startled.
"Yes, the engagement was announced the first of the season, and, of
course, any one can see that, morally and mentally, the young man is her
equal in every respect. But it has leaked out that he has worked his own
way up from boyhood. His name is Faxon--Clifford Faxon--and I am told
that he first met his fiancée in a railroad accident--or, rather, what
would have proved to be a terrible smash-up but for the boy's superhuman
efforts to remove an obstruction that lay upon the track, and which made
a veritable hero of him. It seems that the girl was on board the train,
and she was so impressed by the wonderful achievement that she gave him
a very handsome ring, which he wears constantly."
Squire Talford remembered the ring well, but it galled him inexpressibly
to hear Clifford so vaunted--this boy whom he had always hated because
of a secret wrong in which his mother had once figured, and which he had
nursed for half a life-time. It rasped him almost beyond endurance to
find that, in spite of the efforts he had made to crush him, he had
overcome every obstacle in the past, and was steadily rising toward fame
and fortune; that even now, in his early manhood, he had far outstripped
himself in attaining a social position in the world.
"He is a handsome, intellectual-looking fellow, don't you think?" his
companion inquired. "You do not often see a finer head, a more frank,
honest face on a man, while his eyes are simply magnificent."
The squire literally ground his teeth with rage, but controlling himself
after a moment, he remarked, with a touch of sarcasm in his tones:
"You are enthusiastic over him, I perceive. But it seems that he isn't
above becoming a fortune-hunter, since he is going to marry the rich
Miss Heatherford."
"There you are mistaken, sir," was the spirited retort. "Faxon is no
fortune-hunter--I'd take my oath that he would never stoop to win any
one from a mercenary motive. The fact is that he and Miss Heatherford
met and became acknowledged lovers while the girl was working for her
living, and, notwithstanding he has no fortune or social position except
what he has won for himself, she is prouder of him than she would be of
a crown prince."
The squire could bear no more of that kind of talk in his present frame
of mind, and, excusing himself to his communicative companion, he left
him and made his way toward the hall, with the intention of slipping out
unobserved and returning to his boarding-place. He was so absorbed in
his disagreeable reflections that he paid no heed to any of the people
about him, and had just reached the great archway leading out of the
drawing-room when his way was suddenly blocked by some one who had
paused before him and given vent to a startled exclamation.
Squire Talford lifted his head with a great, inward shock, and found a
familiar form confronting him. The two men glared into each other's
faces for a full minute without speaking, both looking like a couple of
specters. Then the stranger gasped with colorless lips:
"You--here!"
"Looks like it," laconically returned the squire, who instantly began to
recover himself, while his eyes glittered like points of polished steel.
"Perhaps you'll be wanting to buy another ticket for New York, now that
you know I'm around, eh?"
"No, I'll be ---- if I will!" fiercely retorted the other, in a low,
angry tone. Then he elbowed his way by his enemy, and disappeared among
the crowd.
The squire chuckled viciously to himself, his irritation against
Clifford forgotten for the moment in his new and rather startling
encounter.
"Ha, ha! Bill. You're afraid of me, and you can't conceal the fact. And
you have even more cause than you dream of," he muttered, a cruel smile
wreathing his lips. "I wonder what you are doing here in
Washington--I'll bet you're trying to lobby some devilish scheme or
other, for your own private interests. But I think there'll be a day of
reckoning between you and me before you're much older."
A little later Mollie and Gertrude Athol slipped away from the company
and went for a stroll through the fine conservatory that led from the
south side of the house. They wandered about, chatting socially, for a
time, until Gertrude, chancing to glance up, saw her father standing in
the doorway beckoning to her.
"Papa wants me," she said. "I expect he wishes to introduce me to some
friends of whom he told me to-day. I am sorry to leave you, Miss
Heatherford, but you will come to see me soon, will you not? and then we
will plan to meet often. Good night, if I should not see you again."
She tripped away, but Mollie, who was a dear lover of flowers, lingered
in that bower of beauty to examine some rare and exquisite orchids which
were in full bloom. Suddenly, as she rounded a corner at the extreme end
of the conservatory, some one started up from a seat that was
half-concealed by some palms and foliage plants, and she found herself
confronted by Philip Wentworth.
She had not dreamed of his being in the house, for she had seen none of
the family that evening, and, in truth, he had been there but a few
minutes, having had another engagement, but had promised to join his
fiancée, Gertrude Athol, before the evening was over. He had been
looking for her--had come to the conservatory to seek her, entering by a
door leading from the dining room, instead of the hall, when, seeing the
two girls, and not wishing to meet them together, he had sought the seat
referred to, and concealed himself among the foliage until they should
return to the house.
But when he saw Gertrude leave and Mollie loitering among the flowers,
a wild desire to talk with her took possession of him, and he arose and
stood in her path.
Mollie drew herself haughtily erect, and would have passed him without a
word, but he stretched forth his arms and barred her way.
"No, you shall not evade me this time," he cried in a voice tremulous
with passion and wounded feeling. "I have the right to vindicate myself,
and no criminal is ever condemned without a hearing. Oh, Mollie! Mollie!
forgive me--forgive me! I was not myself that night. I own I had been
drinking more than was good for me, and I hardly knew what I was about."
Mollie had not intended to exchange a word with him, but the
self-reproach in his tones--the misery in his face--appealed to her
gentle heart, and she began to be sorry for him. She told herself that
she had no right to condemn him utterly, even though she felt that she
could never respect or admit him to her friendship again. She recoiled a
step or two from him, and her face involuntarily softened.
"If that is so," she began gently, "let it be a lesson to you, and never
again make such free use of that which you admit has power to control
you."
"I will not, Mollie--I will not, indeed. I promise you," Philip eagerly
returned, adding appealingly: "And you will forgive me--say that you
will forgive, and let us be friends, as of old, once more."
Mollie's face flushed, and she shrank involuntarily. She knew that she
could never receive him as a friend again--she had no wish ever to
resume the old relations with any of the family, for their treachery and
ill usage had done more to weaken her faith in humanity than anything
that had ever occurred in all her experience.
"No," she said, after a moment of thought. "I will be frank with you,
Philip--we can never be friends again, as I understand the term. One
must have confidence in one's friends--you have destroyed my confidence
in you. One must respect one's friends--you have forfeited my respect.
It is not easy to tell you this, but you know that I was never guilty of
deception, and so I cannot pretend to a friendship that is not real."
The young man staggered back a pace. He felt as if some one had struck
him a blow upon his bare heart, and in all his life he had not known
such genuine suffering as he experienced at that moment. Mollie seemed
beautiful as a goddess--as far above him in strength and purity of
character as the stars, and yet he had never yearned for her as he did
now.
"Oh! I deserve it all--I deserve you should despise me!" he exclaimed in
a voice of agony; "but I love you--I love you! You, and you alone, hold
my life and my future in your hands! Forgive me, Mollie--let me try to
win back your respect. I swear that no one shall lead a more exemplary
life--no one shall be more worthy of your confidence--your love, than I,
if you will but give me a chance. See! I kneel--I beg----"
"Stop!" cried Mollie authoritatively, as she put out one hand to stay
him, "never do that, for no true woman would ever wish a man to
humiliate himself. And now let me say," she continued even more
impressively, "you must never speak like this to me again, for--I am
already the promised wife of another."