CHAPTER XXXVI.—ON THE INFLUENCE OF A MAN OF THE WORLD.

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.”