When, several days after this conversation, Philip received his big invitation, gorgeously engraved on what he took to be a sublimated sort of wrapping-paper, he felt ashamed that he had doubted the sincere friendship and the goodness of heart of Mrs. Mavick.

XV

One morning in December, Philip was sent down to Mr. Mavick’s office with some important papers.  He was kept waiting a considerable time in the outer room where the clerks were at work.  A couple of clerks at desks near the chair he occupied were evidently discussing some one and he overheard fragments of sentences—­“Yes, that’s he.”  “Well, I guess the old man’s got his match this time.”

When he was admitted to the private office, he encountered coming out in the anteroom a man of striking appearance.  For an instant they were face to face, and then bowed and passed on.  The instant seemed to awaken some memory in Philip which greatly puzzled him.

The man had closely cropped black hair, black Whiskers, a little curling, but also closely trimmed, piercing black eyes, and the complexion of a Spaniard.  The nose was large but regular, the mouth square-cut and firm, and the powerful jaw emphasized the decision of the mouth.  The frame corresponded with the head.  It was Herculean, and yet with no exaggerated developments.  The man was over six feet in height, the shoulders were square, the chest deep, the hips and legs modeled for strength, and with no superfluous flesh.  Philip noticed, as they fronted each other for an instant and the stranger raised his hat, that his hands and feet were smaller than usually accompany such a large frame.  The impression was that of great physical energy, self-confidence, and determined will.  The face was not bad, certainly not in detail, and even the penetrating eyes seemed at the moment capable of a humorous expression, but it was that of a man whom you would not like to have your enemy.  He wore a business suit of rough material and fashionable cut, but he wore it like a man who did not give much thought to his clothes.

“What a striking-looking man,” said Philip, motioning with his hand towards the anteroom as he greeted Mr. Mavick.

“Who, Ault?” answered Mavick, indifferently.

“Ault!  What, Murad Ault?”

“Nobody else.”

“Is it possible?  I thought I saw a resemblance.  Several times I have wondered, but I fancied it only a coincidence of names.  It seemed absurd.  Why, I used to know Murad Ault when we were boys.  And to think that he should be the great Murad Ault.”

“He hasn’t been that for more than a couple of years,” Mavick answered, with a smile at the other’s astonishment, and then, with more interest, “What do you know about him?”