After he had finished a very nice little dinner, with a small bottle of champagne to add zest to it, Mr. Beaumont lighted a cigarette, and sat down comfortably before the fire, in order to wait for Reginald Blake. He had written to the young man, announcing his arrival and asking him to call, so he had no doubt but that he would be favoured with a visit. Having, therefore, arranged his plan of action, he lay back indolently in his chair, making plans for the future, and building air-castles amid the blue spirals of smoke which curled upward from his lips. About seven o'clock he heard a knock at the door, and in answer to his invitation to enter, a woman made her appearance. Beaumont, who had merely turned his head to greet Reginald, was rather astonished at this unexpected guest, and arose to his feet in order to see who it was. His visitor closed the door carefully after her and stepped forward so that she came within the circle of light cast by the lamp on the table, then, throwing back her veil, looked steadily at the artist. "Patience!" "Yes, Patience," she replied, sitting down on a chair near the table. "You did not expect to see me?" "Well, no," answered Beaumont, indolently leaning against the mantelpiece. "I must confess I did not--but if you want to speak with me, I can spare you very little time, as I am waiting----" "For Reginald?" she interrupted quickly. "Yes, I know that." "The deuce you do! What a wonderful woman you are! How did you find out I was here?" "I left instructions that I was to be informed of your arrival, as I wished to speak with you before you saw our son." "Indeed! And what do you want to speak to me about?" "Your letter." "I think my letter was too clear to require further explanation," he said impatiently. "I told you my intentions." "You did--and I have come to tell you they will not be carried out." "Is that so?" said Beaumont, with a sneer. "Well, we'll see. Who will prevent me doing what I like?" "I will." "Really--I'm afraid you over-rate your powers, my dear Patience. You are a clever woman, no doubt--a very clever woman--but there are limits." "As you observe, very truly, there are limits," she retorted fiercely, "and those limits you have overstepped. Do you think I am going to stand by and see you wring money out of my son?" "Our son," he corrected gently. "You forget I am his father. As to wringing money out of him, that's a very unpleasant way of putting it. I simply propose to appeal to his common sense." "Sit down," said Patience, suddenly. "I wish to speak to you." Beaumont shrugged his shoulders, then, pushing the arm-chair to one side, sat down in it so that he faced her fairly, keeping, however, with habitual caution, his face well in the shade. "By all means," he said amiably. "I always humour a woman when there is nothing to be gained by doing otherwise. Go on, my dear friend, I'm all attention."