"Patience Allerby."
Beaumont laughed sardonically as he finished this letter, and twirling it in his fingers, looked thoughtfully at the carpet.
"I wonder," he said at length, in a low voice, "I wonder if this letter means love of her son, or jealousy of Una; both I expect, for though she hates me like poison, and everything sentimental between us is dead and buried years ago she gets mad as soon as she thinks I admire another woman--strange thing a female heart--whatever ashes of dead loves may remain in it, there is always some live ember hidden beneath--humph! queer thing that the love of twenty years ago should suddenly spring up again to life."
He arose from his seat, and commenced once more to walk up and down the room, soliloquising in a low voice, while outside the fog was growing quite black and a sombre twilight spread through the apartment.
"So it's Nestley I've got to thank for rousing her suspicions. He's been giving Patience his view of my character, which no doubt will coincide with her own--amiable creatures both! She has told Una that there is danger to Reginald in my companionship, so either herself or Una have written to town and frightened my shy bird into taking flight. Bother these women, how dreadfully they do upset one's plans; however, I do not mind, my hold upon Reginald Blake is just as firm at Garsworth as it is in London. As to Patience denouncing me--pish!--melodramatic rubbish--it's too late now to talk such nonsense--if she tells the truth her son loses the property, and she's too fond of him to risk that. As to Blake himself, when he knows I'm his father he'll be glad enough to make terms or lose the property and Una Challoner."
He paused a moment, lighted a cigarette, and going to the window gazed absently out into the black mist which clung around the roofs and chimney-pots of the houses, and hid the brilliantly lighted street below from his gaze.
"Una Challoner," he murmured thoughtfully. "Patience thinks I am in love with her. Curious that I am not: she has everything a woman can have to attract and allure a man, and yet I don't care a bit about her. Had I been in love with her I would not have troubled my head about Reginald but let Una inherit the property, and then it would have been a tug of war between father and son as to who married the heiress! That I have secured the property for our son ought to easily convince Patience that I love money more than Una Challoner, but of course she doesn't see because she is blinded by jealousy--rather complimentary to me I must say, seeing how hard I tried to break her heart in the past."
Turning away from the window with a sigh he lighted the gas, then going over to the mirror placed over the fireplace he looked at himself long and critically.
"You're growing old, my friend," he murmured, "the wine of life is running to the lees with you, and I'm afraid you'll never fall in love again--still it's wonderful how I keep my good looks--my face is my fortune--ah, bah! and what fortune has it brought me? two dismal rooms, a precarious existence, and not a friend in the world."
He laughed drearily at the dismal prospect he had conjured up and pursued his meditation.