only a woman's heart--indeed;
a sacred thing to you, you say,
to me, a toy, with which to play.
ah, well, let each hold fast his creed.
what matter should it chance to bleed,
is it a man's cut finger?--nay,
only a woman's heart.
on ancient tales your fancies feed,
when woman ruled in saintly way,
but we have changed such things to-day.
for, after all, what use to heed?
only a woman's heart.
seeing that reginald had thus escaped him for a time, mr. beaumont's temper was none of the sweetest when he arrived back at his chambers. like most clever men the artist was very proud of his tact and delicacy in dealing with ingenuous youth, and he felt annoyed with himself lest by failing to skilfully angle for this trout, he should have lost his prize by failing in his diplomacy, and thereby shown too plainly the real reasons he had for his apparently disinterested friendship. so, on arrival at his chambers, mr. beaumont lighted a cigarette, threw himself moodily into a big arm-chair, and proceeded to mentally review all his conduct towards reginald since the lad's arrival in town.
hard as he tried to find some flaw in his own conduct which might have put blake on his guard, beaumont was quite unsuccessful in doing so, for his demeanour towards his proposed victim had been all that the most delicate tactician could have desired.
"i can't have frightened him away," he said aloud to himself, "for i acted the disinterested friend to perfection. hang it! i wonder what took him back to garsworth. i saw a letter in his hand, so i expect una challoner's been writing to him: but that would not do me any harm, for she likes me, and i should think would be rather glad if i looked after the boy in town. i wonder it that confounded patience has been talking? i made things all straight before i left garsworth, but one never knows what may happen, and if patience got an inkling of my design, she'd move heaven and earth to get the boy back again to her side--humph! i hardly know what to think--that's the worst of dealing with women; they're so crooked, you never know what they're going to do next."
he arose from his seat and walked impatiently up and down the room, seeking some solution of the problem thus presented to him. while doing so, he happened to glance at the mantelpiece, and saw thereon a letter.
"i wish that man of mine wouldn't put the letters there," he grumbled, taking the letter, "i can never find them--but let me see who this is from; garsworth postmark--don't know the writing--wonder if una challoner is--by jove!" he ejaculated, as he took out the letter and glanced at the signature, "it's from patience allerby. i knew she had been up to some mischief. well! i'll read the letter, and see if i can't foil you, my lady."
resuming his seat in the arm-chair, he smoothed out the letter carefully as he prepared to read it. the contents, which were as follows, considerably astonished him, and his lips curled with a cynical smile as he glanced down the closely-written page.
"basil beaumont,--
"is it true what dr. nestley has told me--that you are in love with una challoner? if it is, i will make an end of everything between us, and denounce you, even at the cost of my own liberty. you have ruined my life, but you are not going to ruin that of my son by taking from him the woman he loves.
"reginald blake is now in london, and i hear you are constantly by his side. act honourably by him, or i swear i will punish you for any harm you do to him. by our mutual sin he is now in possession of the garsworth estate, and is going to marry the lawful mistress of it. as this is the case, and his marriage to miss challoner is the one atonement both of us can make for depriving her of her inheritance, you must let things take their course. you have a desperate woman to deal with in me, and if you harm either reginald or his promised wife in any way, i swear by all that i hold most sacred that you will stand in the prisoner's dock for conspiracy, even though i have to stand by your side as an accomplice.
"patience allerby."
beaumont laughed sardonically as he finished this letter, and twirling it in his fingers, looked thoughtfully at the carpet.
"i wonder," he said at length, in a low voice, "i wonder if this letter means love of her son, or jealousy of una; both i expect, for though she hates me like poison, and everything sentimental between us is dead and buried years ago she gets mad as soon as she thinks i admire another woman--strange thing a female heart--whatever ashes of dead loves may remain in it, there is always some live ember hidden beneath--humph! queer thing that the love of twenty years ago should suddenly spring up again to life."
he arose from his seat, and commenced once more to walk up and down the room, soliloquising in a low voice, while outside the fog was growing quite black and a sombre twilight spread through the apartment.
"so it's nestley i've got to thank for rousing her suspicions. he's been giving patience his view of my character, which no doubt will coincide with her own--amiable creatures both! she has told una that there is danger to reginald in my companionship, so either herself or una have written to town and frightened my shy bird into taking flight. bother these women, how dreadfully they do upset one's plans; however, i do not mind, my hold upon reginald blake is just as firm at garsworth as it is in london. as to patience denouncing me--pish!--melodramatic rubbish--it's too late now to talk such nonsense--if she tells the truth her son loses the property, and she's too fond of him to risk that. as to blake himself, when he knows i'm his father he'll be glad enough to make terms or lose the property and una challoner."
he paused a moment, lighted a cigarette, and going to the window gazed absently out into the black mist which clung around the roofs and chimney-pots of the houses, and hid the brilliantly lighted street below from his gaze.
"una challoner," he murmured thoughtfully. "patience thinks i am in love with her. curious that i am not: she has everything a woman can have to attract and allure a man, and yet i don't care a bit about her. had i been in love with her i would not have troubled my head about reginald but let una inherit the property, and then it would have been a tug of war between father and son as to who married the heiress! that i have secured the property for our son ought to easily convince patience that i love money more than una challoner, but of course she doesn't see because she is blinded by jealousy--rather complimentary to me i must say, seeing how hard i tried to break her heart in the past."
turning away from the window with a sigh he lighted the gas, then going over to the mirror placed over the fireplace he looked at himself long and critically.
"you're growing old, my friend," he murmured, "the wine of life is running to the lees with you, and i'm afraid you'll never fall in love again--still it's wonderful how i keep my good looks--my face is my fortune--ah, bah! and what fortune has it brought me? two dismal rooms, a precarious existence, and not a friend in the world."
he laughed drearily at the dismal prospect he had conjured up and pursued his meditation.
"i'll make one more bid for fortune, and i think i hold strong cards. if i win--as i can't help doing--i'll turn over a new leaf and become respectable. but if i lose, and there are always the possibilities of losing, i'll throw up the sponge in england and try my luck in america. if i don't succeed there, perhaps a friendly cowboy will put an end to my wasted life; at present, carpe diem, as our friend the vicar would say, so i'll dine at the club and scribble a letter to patience allerby."
he dressed himself slowly, still in a dismal mood, and as he was rattling along in a hansom he gave himself an impatient shake.
"bah," he muttered with a shiver, "i've got a fit of the blue devils with this weather. never mind, a good dinner and a bottle of wine will soon put me right."
he had both, and felt so much better that he began to view things in a more rosy light, and wrote a letter to patience allerby which entirely satisfied him.
"there," he said gaily, as he dropped it into the box, "i think that will show my lady pretty plainly how i intend to proceed, so now as there's nothing better to do i'll go to the theatre."
and to the theatre he went, trying by every means in his power to shake off by means of this fictitious gaiety the gloomy thoughts which always beset him when he found himself alone.
