It was true then--what he had surmised was true! Edmund Airey had shown
himself to be actuated by a stronger impulse than a desire to assist
Helen Craven to realize her hopes--so much appeared perfectly plain to
Harold Wynne, as he strolled back to his rooms.
He was now convinced that Edmund Airey was serious in his attitude in
respect of Beatrice. At Castle Innisfail he had been ready enough to
play the game with counters, on his side at least, as stakes, but now he
meant to play a serious game.
Harold recalled what proofs he had already received, to justify his
arriving at this conclusion, and he felt that they were ample--he felt
that this conclusion was the only one possible to be arrived at by
anyone acquainted with all that had come under his notice.
He was quite astounded to hear from his sister that Edmund Airey had
taken so extreme a step as to beg of her to call upon Beatrice,
and invite her to join the Abbeylands party. Whether or not he had
approached Mrs. Lampson in confidence on this matter, the fact of his
having approached her was, in some degree, compromising to himself, and
no one was better aware of this fact than Edmund Airey. He was not an
eager boy to give way to a passion without counting the cost. There was
no more subtle calculator of costs than Edmund Airey, and Harold knew
it.
What, then, was left for Harold to infer?
Nothing, except what he had already inferred.
What then was left for him to do to checkmate the man who was menacing
him?
He had lived so long in that world, the centre of which is situated
somewhere about Park Lane, and he had come to believe so thoroughly that
the leading characteristic of this world is worldliness, that he had
lost the capacity to trust anyone implicitly. He was unable to bring
himself to risk everything upon the chance of Beatrice’s loving him, in
the face of the worst that might occur.
Thus it was that the little feeling of distrust which he experienced the
previous day remained with him. It did not increase, but it was there.
Now and again he could feel its cold finger upon his heart, and he knew
that it was there.
He could not love with that blind, unreasoning, uncalculating love--that
love which knows only heaven and hell, not earth. That perfect love,
which casteth out distrust, was not the love of his world.
And thus it was that he walked to his rooms, thinking by what means
he could bind that girl to him, so that she should be bound beyond the
possibility of chance, or craft, or worldliness coming between them.
He had not arrived at any satisfactory conclusion on this subject when
he reached his rooms.
He was surprised to find waiting for him Mr. Playdell, but he greeted
the man cordially--he had acquired a liking for him, for he perceived
that, with all his eccentricities--all his crude theories that he tried
to vivify by calling them principles, he was still acting faithfully
toward Archie Brown, and was preventing him from squandering hundreds of
pounds where Archie might have squandered thousands.
“You are naturally surprised to see me, Mr. Wynne,” said Playdell. “I
dare say that most men would think that I had taken a liberty in making
an uninvited call like this.”
“I, at any rate, think nothing of the sort, Mr. Playdell,” said Harold.
“I am certain that you do not,” said Mr. Play-dell. “I am certain that
you are capable of doing me justice--yes, on some points.”
“I hope that I am, Mr. Playdell.”
“I know that you are, Mr. Wynne. You are not one of those silly persons,
wise in their own conceit, who wink at one another when my name is
mentioned, and suggest that the unfrocked priest is making a very fair
thing out of his young patron.”
“I believe that your influence over him is wholly for good, Mr.
Playdell. If he were to allow you the income of a Bishop instead of
that of a Dean I believe that he would still save money--a great deal of
money--by having you near him.”
“And you are in no way astray, Mr. Wynne. I was prepared for what people
would say when I accepted the situation that Archie offered me, but the
only stipulation that I made was that my accounts were to be audited by
a professional man, and monthly. Thus it is that I protect myself. Every
penny that I receive is accounted for.”
“That is a very wise plan, Mr. Playdell, but--”
“But it has nothing to do with my coming here to-day? That is what you
are too polite to say. You are right, Mr. Wynne. I have not come here to
talk about myself and my systems, but about our friend Archie. You have
great influence over him.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t much. If I had, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell him
that he is making an ass of himself.”
“You have come to the point at once, Mr. Wynne.”
Mr. Playdell had risen from his chair and was walking up and down the
room with his head bent. Now he stood opposite to Harold.
“The point?” said Harold.
“The point is that he is being robbed right and left through the medium
of the Legitimate Theatre, and a stop must be put to it,” said Playdell.
“And you think that I should make the attempt to put a stop to this
foolishness of his? My dear Mr. Playdell, if I were to suggest to Archie
that he is making an ass of himself over this particular matter, I
should never have another chance of exercising my influence over him for
good or bad. I have always known that Mrs. Mowbray is one of the most
expensive tastes in England. But when the beauty of Mrs. Mowbray is
to be exploited with the beauty of the poetry of Shakespeare, and when
these gems are enclosed in so elaborate a setting as the Legitimate
Theatre--well, I suppose Archie’s millions will hold out. There’s a deal
of spending in three millions, Mr. Playdell.”
“His millions will hold out,” said Mr. Playdell. “And so will he,”
laughed Harold. “I have known Mrs. Mowbray for several years, and she
has never ruined any man except her husband, and he is not worth talking
about. She has always liked young men with wealth so enormous that even
her powers of spending money can make no impression on it.”
“Mr. Wynne, you can have no notion what that theatre has cost
Archie--what it is daily costing him. Eight hundred pounds a week
wouldn’t cover the net loss of that ridiculous business--that trailing
of Shakespeare in the mire, to gratify the vanity of a woman. I know
what men are when they are very young. If I were to talk to Archie
seriously on this subject, he would laugh at me; if he did not, he would
throw something at me. The result would be _nil_.”
“Unless he was a good shot with a casual missile.”
“Mr. Wynne, he would not listen to me; but he would listen to you--I
know that he would. You could talk to him with all the authority of a
man of the world--a man in Society.”
“Mr. Playdell,” said Harold, shaking his head, “if there’s no fool like
the old fool, there’s no ass like the young ass. Now, I can assure you,
on the authority of a man of the world--you know what such an authority
is worth--that to try and detach Archie from his theatre nonsense just
now by means of a lecture, would be as impossible as to detach a limpet
from a rock by a sermon on--let us say--the flexibility of the marriage
bond.”
“Alas! alas!” said Mr. Playdell.
“The only way that Archie can be induced to throw over Mrs. Mowbray and
Shakespeare and suchlike follies, is by inducing him to form a stronger
attachment elsewhere.”
“The last state of that man might be worse than the first, Mr. Wynne.”
“Might--yes, it might be, but that is no reason why it should be. The
young ass takes to thistles, because it has never known the enjoyment of
a legitimate pasture.”
“The legitimate pasture is some distance away from the Legitimate
Theatre, Mr. Wynne.”
“I agree with you. Now, the thought has just occurred to me that I might
get Archie brought among decent people, for the first time in his life.
My sister, Mrs. Lampson, is having a party down at her husband’s place
in Brackenshire, for the pheasant-shooting. Why shouldn’t Archie be one
of the party? There are a number of decent men going, and decent women
also. None of the men will try to get the better of him.”
“And the women will not try to make a fool of him?”
“I won’t promise that--the world can’t cease to revolve on its axis
because Archie Brown has a tendency to giddiness.”
Mr. Playdell was grave. Then he said, thoughtfully, “Whatever the women
may be, they can’t be of the stamp of Mrs. Mowbray.”
“You may trust my sister for that. You may also trust her to see that
they are less beautiful than Mrs. Mowbray,” remarked Harold.
Mr. Playdell pondered.
“Pheasant-shooting is expensive in its way,” said he. “The preservation
of grouse runs away with a good deal of money also, I am told. Race
horses, it is generally understood, entail considerable outlay. Put
them all together, and you only come within measurable distance of
Mrs. Mowbray and Shakespeare as a pastime--with nothing to show for the
money--absolutely nothing to show for the money.”
“Except Mrs. Mowbray and Shakespeare.”
“Mr. Wynne, I believe that your kind suggestion may be the saving of
that lad,” said Playdell.
“Oh, it’s the merest chance,” said Harold. “He may grow sick of the
whole business after the first _battue_.”
“He won’t. I’ve known men saved from destruction by scoring a century in
a first-class cricket match: they gave themselves up to cricket, to the
exclusion of other games less healthy. If Archie takes kindly to the
pheasants, he may make up his mind to buy a place and preserve them.
That will be a healthy occupation for him. You will give him to
understand that it’s the proper thing to do, Mr. Wynne.”
“You may depend upon me. I’ll write to my sister to invite him. It’s
only an experiment.”
“It will succeed, Mr. Wynne--it will succeed, I feel that it will. If
you only knew, as I do, how he is being fooled, you would understand my
earnestness--you have long ago forgiven my intrusion. Give me a chance
of serving you in return, Mr. Wynne. That’s all I ask.”