"I think so also," said Beaumont cordially, for he was too crafty to press a question he saw might prove distasteful to the proud woman before him, "so I'll speak to Blake." "And how are you getting on with my cousin's picture?" asked Una, dexterously turning the conversation as they walked down the terrace. "Oh, very well indeed--it will make an excellent picture, and I enjoy talking to the Squire, his ideas are so very strange." "The effect of solitude I've no doubt," replied Una absently, "a solitary existence generally engenders strange thoughts." "Exactly. I'd rather talk to a recluse than to a man or woman of the world, for although the ideas of a hermit may be old fashioned they are infinitely fresh." "Don't you like Society then?" "Sometimes I do--man is a gregarious animal you know--but Society people as a rule are fearful humbugs. I suppose a certain amount of deception is necessary to make things go smooth. A tells B lies and B knows they are lies, still he believes them, because to preserve a necessary friendship with A it won't do to tell him he's a liar; if all our friends were put in the Palace of Truth it would be a mighty unpleasant world, I assure you." "But you don't think it is necessary to tell lies to make things go smoothly?" said Una rather shocked. "I daresay that's the plain, brutal truth," retorted Beaumont coolly; "lies are the oil which diplomacy pours on the troubled waters of Society. Lord, what a world of humbugs we are to be sure." "Well, good-bye just now," said Una laughing, as she turned away, "don't forget to tell Mr. Blake about London." "Oh no, I won't forget," replied Beaumont, and taking off his hat, he strolled away down the avenue, very well satisfied with the result of his conversation. "I think I've succeeded in pacifying her," he murmured to himself, "now she sees how anxious I am to help her lover she won't distrust me any more--it's the parable of the sower over again--a little seed sown in fruitful ground bears a goodly crop--now I am sowing the seed--when I get Reginald in London I will reap the harvest." CHAPTER XIII. DICK'S OPINION. "I like him not--his subtle smile Conceals beneath some purpose vile, Tho' bland his gaze and fair his speech Oh trust him not, I do beseech; For as a seeming simple flower May hide a scent of evil power, Which lures with its envenomed The trusting wearer to his death; So tho' his tongue may kindly prate, He oathes thee with undying hate." Now that Basil Beaumont had succeeded in gaining Una's gratitude, if not her friendship, he determined to next win over Dr. Larcher to his side. He had already managed to gain a certain influence over Reginald Blake, but he saw plainly that the worthy vicar was not prepossessed in his favour, and, as he would prove an invaluable ally should Patience prove dangerous, Beaumont was anxious to impress him with a good estimate of his character.