"Bah!" she snarled, turning on him viciously, "don't talk like that to me--a scoundrel you were and a scoundrel you are--don't touch me, don't come near me, but breathe one word of my secret and as sure as there's a God above us I'll do what I say."
Beaumont made a step forward as if to seize her, but with a gesture of loathing she drew her dress around her and fled away into the darkness leaving him standing alone by the river. He remained silent for a few moments then his brow cleared and he resumed his nonchalant manner, though his face still remained pale and haggard.
"My son Reginald," he said, lightly rolling a cigarette, "I had no idea of such luck. Ah, you she cat, I'll cut your claws yet; I'll make money out of the voice yet, in spite of your threats my fine madame."
Suddenly a thought struck him as he lighted his cigarette and he laughed softly.
"Good heavens!" he said with a shrug. "I admire Miss Challoner, so does he--it appears," continued Mr. Beaumont sauntering away; "then I'm the rival of my own son."
CHAPTER XI. MR. BEAUMONT MAKES A DISCOVERY.
When one is playing in the game of life 'Tis wrong to throw away a single card, Lest by some odd mistake of circumstance The card despised--if played with dext'rous hand-- Should gain an unexpected victory.
When Basil Beaumont came to think over things, it struck him as somewhat strange that Patience should have voluntarily told him a secret, for the concealment of which she had several excellent reasons. Firstly, she must have had a great struggle with her pride before bringing herself to address the man to whom she owed her ruin. Secondly, on informing Beaumont that Reginald was his son, she must have known there were great chances of him revealing the whole story to the young fellow out of sheer devilry; and thirdly, knowing that Reginald was clever, she must have expected his penniless father would try and make money out of his talents.
Beaumont was too astute a reader of character to blind himself to the fact that Patience must have been aware of these three things, hence his wonder at her telling him what she did not want known. But the artist, clever as he was, still lacked discernment to recognise the full subtlety of a woman's instincts, else he would have readily seen that Patience feared his ignorance of the real state of affairs more than his knowledge.