"Certainly not!" retorted Blake hotly, pushing back his chair, "why should I do such a thing? As I said before, I have only known you three months--you were kind enough to introduce me to some friends of yours in Town, beyond this our friendship does not extend--I have yet to learn that gentlemen go about requesting sums of money from comparative strangers." "You have yet to learn a good many things," said Beaumont coolly, irritated by the independent tone of the young man, "and one is that you must give me the money I ask." Blake jumped to his feet in amazement at the peremptory tone of the artist and looked at him indignantly. "Must!" he repeated angrily, "I don't understand the word--what right have you to speak to me in such a manner?--if you think you've got a fool to deal with you are very much mistaken--I decline to lend or give you a sixpence, and furthermore I also decline your acquaintance from this moment." He snatched up his overcoat and put it on, but Beaumont, still cool and unruffled, sat smiling in his chair. "Wait a moment," he said slowly, "you had better understand the situation before you leave this room." Reginald Blake, who had turned his back on the artist, swung round with a dangerous expression in his dark eyes. "I understand the situation perfectly, sir; you thought I was a young fool, who, having come into money, was simple enough to play the part of pigeon to your hawk." Beaumont arose slowly from his chair at this insulting speech, and frowned ominously, while the woman hidden behind the door watched the pair in a cat-like manner, ready to intervene if she saw cause. "You had better take care, my boy," said Beaumont deliberately. "I am your friend now, beware lest you make me your enemy." "Do you think I care two straws for either your friendship or enmity?" replied Blake with supreme contempt, looking the artist up and down. "If so, you are mistaken--what can you do to harm me I should like to know?" "Then you shall know--I can dispossess you of your wealth and leave you a pauper." "Hardly--seeing I now know your true character and touch neither dice-box nor cards." "It will require neither dice-box nor cards," replied Beaumont, wincing at this home thrust, "I can dispense with those aids--and I can reduce you to your former position of a pauper and stop your marriage." "Indeed! Then do so." Beaumont was stung to sudden fury by the young man's coolness, and lost his temper. "You defy me!" he hissed, advancing towards Blake. "You dare to defy me, you pauper--you outcast--you bastard!" "Liar!" In another moment Reginald had his hand upon Beaumont's throat, his face convulsed with rage, when suddenly Patience sprang forth from her hiding-place. "Stop! He is your father." Blake's grip relaxed, and his arm fell by his side while Beaumont, staggering back, fell into the arm-chair and began mechanically to arrange his disordered necktie. "My father!"