The cynical man of the world seemed to have changed altogether since his interview with Patience Allerby, and no one seeing the interest he took in the simple pleasures of village life would dream that behind all this apparent simplicity he concealed a subtle design. His acting was in the highest degree artificial, yet so thoroughly true to nature that everyone was deceived and never saw the ravenous wolf hidden under the innocent skin of the lamb. Of course, Patience Allerby had too minute a knowledge of his real nature to be deceived by the mask of innocence and gaiety he now chose to assume, and as Basil Beaumont knew this only too well, he was anxious to lose no time in raising up to himself an army of well-wishers against the honest indignation of the woman he had deserted should she interfere with his schemes. Mrs. Larcher, Miss Cassy, Una and Reginald had now all an excellent opinion of him, so he was anxious to secure the good wishes of Dr. Larcher, thus leaving Patience to fight her battle single-handed against the crowd of friends he had so dexterously secured. Notwithstanding the lateness of the season it was a very pleasant day, with a certain warmth and brightness in the air despite the keen wind which was blowing, and on his arrival at the vicarage Beaumont found the young people playing lawn-tennis; Pumpkin and Ferdinand Priggs holding their own in a somewhat erratic fashion against Reginald and Dick Pemberton. Beaumont sauntered on to the lawn with his everlasting cigarette between his lips, but threw it away as he was hailed joyously by Reginald and the four players, who paused for a moment in the game. "How do you do, Miss Larcher?" said Beaumont, lazily raising his hat, "this is a comprehensive greeting, and includes everybody. I've called to see the vicar." "Papa's out just now," observed Pumpkin, "but he will be back soon. Will you wait, Mr. Beaumont?" "Thank you--I will," answered Beaumont, sitting down on a garden bench. "Have a game?" cried Reginald, flinging his racquet into the air and catching it dexterously in his hand. "Too much like hard work." "Then have some tea," suggested Pumpkin persuasively. "Ah, that is better, Miss Larcher," replied Beaumont gaily; "yes, I should like some tea." "Bring it out here," said Dick, who had thrown himself down on the soft green grass, "it will be jolly having a spread outside." "How you do misuse the Queen's English," murmured Mr. Priggs as Miss Larcher went inside to order the tea. "Only in prose," retorted Dick coolly, "think how you mutilate it in poetry." "I'm afraid you're rather severe on Priggs," said Beaumont, who was anxious to conciliate everyone, even the poet, for whom he had a profound contempt. "You wouldn't say so if you saw his poetry," replied Pemberton laughing. "Oh, come now, Dick," said Reginald lightly, "that's rather hard--some of Ferdinand's poetry is beautiful." "And gruesome."