"What do you mean?"
"Simply this, that Reginald Blake, from this time forward, is the son of Fanny Blake and Randal Garsworth."
Patience looked at him in surprise, and involuntarily drew back a step, thinking him mad. Beaumont saw this, and laughed mockingly.
"Don't be afraid--there's method in my madness."
"There's some villainy in it," she said, with a hard smile, sitting down near him; "tell me what you mean, Basil Beaumont, if you intend touching a hair of my son's head I'll punish you."
"I intend to give him ten thousand a year, if you won't be a fool."
She smiled coldly, and folded her hands upon her lap.
"I'm no fool, but I know you--go on, Ananias."
Beaumont flung the burnt-out cigarette into the fire with an irritable gesture, and turned his face towards the frigid woman seated before him.
"Listen to what I've got to say," he said slowly, "and then you can do as you please--if you assist me it means money and happiness for our son; if you don't, I'll tell him everything, and then leave the village for ever."