Ralph smiled a little bitterly.

“So I have passed entirely out of your remembrance, have I?” he said.  “Well, it is twelve years since we met.”

“Twelve years,” repeated Mr. Stanton.  He scanned the stranger’s face with curiosity, but not a glimmer of recollection came to him.

“I dare say I met many persons at that distance of time, whom I cannot remember in the least now, even by name.”

“I think you will remember my name,” said Ralph, quietly.  “Your memory of Ralph Pendleton cannot be wholly obliterated.”

Mr. Stanton started, and it was evident from the expression of his face that the memory was not a welcome one.

“Are you Ralph Pendleton?” he asked, in an undecided voice.

“Yes, but not the Ralph Pendleton you once knew.  Then I was an inexperienced boy; now I am a man.”

“Yes, you have changed considerably,” said Mr. Stanton, uncomfortably, “Where have you kept yourself all these years?  Why have you not made yourself known before?”

“Before I answer these questions, I must refer to some circumstances well known to both of us.  I hope I shall not be tiresome; I will, at least, be brief.  You were my father’s friend.  At least, he so considered you.”

“I was so.”

“When he died, as I had not yet attained my majority, he left you my guardian.”

“Yes.”

“I was in rather an idle frame, and being possessed, as I supposed, of fifty thousand dollars, I felt no necessity impelling me to work.  You gave me no advice, but rather encouraged me in my idle propensities.  When I was of age, I took a fancy to travel, and left my property in your hands, with full power to manage it for me.  This trust you accepted.”

“Well, this is an old story.”

“An old one, but it shall not be a long one.  My income being sufficient to defray my expenses abroad, I traveled leisurely, with no thought for the future.  In your integrity I had the utmost confidence.  Imagine, then, my dismay when, while resident in Paris, I received a letter from you stating that, owing to a series of unlucky investments, nearly all my money had been sunk, and in place of fifty thousand dollars, my property was reduced to a few hundreds.’

“It was unlucky, I admit,” said Mr. Stanton, moving uneasily in his chair.  “My investments were unlucky, as it turned out, but the best and most judicious cannot always foresee how an investment will turn out.  Besides, I lost largely, myself.”

“So you wrote me,” said Ralph, quietly.  “However, that did not make it any the easier for me to bear.”

“Perhaps not, but it shows, at any rate, that I took the same risk for my own money that I did for others.”