"And yet you propose to be the middleman between Mr. Blake and the public," said Una, looking at him keenly. "Only to save him from others," observed Beaumont quickly. "For all I know, Blake may be an exceedingly clever business man and quite capable of holding his own against the tribe of Leech and Middleman, still he has no money wherewith to bring his voice to that perfection which will make it a saleable article. I can supply that money, and as the labourer is worthy of his hire, I expect a fair remuneration for my trouble, but I will act honestly towards him, and neither force him into singing before he is fit, nor bind him for any term of years; if he makes a financial and artistic success through my help, I am willing to receive what is my just due, but if he goes to London with no influence--no friends--no money--with nothing but that fine voice, well then, unless he is as I said before a clever business man, there will be some fine pickings for Mr. Leech." "It's a dreadfully wicked world," sighed Una. "It is as God made it," rejoined Beaumont cynically, "I don't think mankind have improved it much, but I daresay we're no worse now than we ever were, the only change I can see is the art of concealment--it was fashionable to be wicked in Borgian Rome, so accordingly everyone proclaimed his or her darling sins from the housetops, now it is considered the correct thing to be decent, so we sin in private and preach in public; the wickedness is with us all the same, but we hide it carefully and prate about the morality of nineteenth century England compared with sixteenth century Rome." "You are rather pessimistic." "My misfortune, not my fault, I assure you," returned the artist carelessly. "Very likely if I had gone through life wrapped up in the cotton wool of position and money I would have found human nature all that is honest and true. Unfortunately Poverty is a deity who takes a pleasure in destroying the illusions of youth, therefore I see the world in a real and not in an ideal sense--it's unpleasant but useful." "I hope Reginald will never cherish such harsh thoughts," murmured Una. "That depends upon the great god Circumstance, but if he comes to London I'm afraid he will be disenchanted. Arcady may be found in this isolated village I've no doubt, but London soon disillusionises the most generous and confiding nature, however, let us hope for the best--but what do you say about my offer, Miss Challoner?" "Well really," said Una with a laugh, "what can I say? it is Mr. Blake's business and not mine." "Still, you take an interest in him," observed Beaumont keenly. "As a very clever man I do," replied Una serenely, for she was determined not to betray her love to this cold-eyed man of the world. "I think it is a pity he should be condemned to stay down here."