"I dare say she could, but she won't--if Reginald becomes master of Garsworth Grange she will marry him, and will enjoy the property just the same as if she were sole heiress--on the other hand, if he does not become master she'll have to wait till this non-existent son appears or upsets the will, one of which things will be impossible and the other troublesome." Patience thought for a moment or two and then looked up. "How do you know Reginald will marry Una?" "Because I've got eyes in my head. The boy is madly in love with her. I'm sure you must see that your helping me to place Reginald in possession of this property will hurt no one and be for the benefit of both Una and your own son." "I see that, but I fail to see what benefit you obtain from it, and I don't think you're the man to work for nothing." "You're perfectly right," he replied calmly, "but I'm going to make myself Reginald's right hand, and when he comes in for the property I can help him to look after the estate." "And ruin him." "I won't ruin him. Why should I want to ruin my own son?" "Bah! don't talk like that to me." "Oh well, if you disbelieve in interest, I'll put it another way. Why should I kill the goose with the golden eggs?" "Yes, that's more like it," she said with a sneer, "I think your plan is an admirable one, but there's one obstacle." "What is it?" "Reginald is an honourable man, and won't accept any property gained by fraud." Beaumont sighed in a resigned manner, apparently hopeless of explaining matters clearly to this painfully obstinate woman. "He'll never know the property is obtained by fraud, because you will tell him he is the son of Fanny Blake and the squire; he will believe you, and regard himself as the lawful heir." "Still, he thinks he's been born in lawful wedlock, and to undeceive him----" "Gives him ten thousand a year," interrupted Beaumont coolly. "Well, what do you say, will you help me?" "I'll tell you to-morrow." "Why not to-day?" "Because I don't trust you, I want to go over the affair in my own mind." Beaumont shrugged his shoulders, put on his hat and lighted another cigarette. "Just as you please," he said, pausing a moment at the door. "I'll call and see you to-morrow; but if you don't help me in this, I'll do what I say and tell Reginald everything." When he was gone Patience sat for a long time looking into the fire, evidently pondering deeply. At length she sighed and muttered: "I don't know what to do, I must ask counsel of the Lord." She arose, and having lighted a candle opened the Bible. CHAPTER XXI. THE GOOD SAMARITAN. Man is but a whimsical animal at best, for there is no life but what may some day act in discord with its theory.