al slender volume, in which the author paid
all expenses and waived all royalties; promising young painters and
poets dined with him; and he even took a theatrical company on tour,
playing host and "lead" with equal lavishness.

He was not what most people call a snob. A snob has been defined
carelessly as a man who loves a lord; and, more carefully, as a mean
lover of mean things--which would be a little unkind to the peerage if
the first definition were true. Mark had his vanities undoubtedly, but
he would sooner have met an actor-manager than an earl; he would have
spoken of his friendship with Dante--had that been possible--more glibly
than of his friendship with the Duke. Call him a snob if you like, but
not the worst kind of snob; a hanger-on, but to the skirts of Art, not
Society; a climber, but in the neighbourhood of Parnassus, not Hay Hill.

His patronage did not stop at the Arts. It also included Matthew Cayley,
a small cousin of thirteen, whose circumstances were as limited as had
been Mark's own before his patron had rescued him. He sent the Cayley
cousin to school and Cambridge. His motives, no doubt, were unworldly
enough at first; a mere repaying to his account in the Recording Angel's
book of the generosity which had been lavished on himself; a laying-up
of treasure in heaven. But it is probable that, as the boy grew up,
Mark's designs for his future were based on his own interests as much
as those of his cousin, and that a suitably educated Matthew Cayley of
twenty-three was felt by him to be a useful property for a man in his
position; a man, that is to say, whose vanities left him so little time
for his affairs.

Cayley, then, at twenty-three, looked after his cousin's affairs. By
this time Mark had bought the Red House and the considerable amount of
land which went with it. Cayley superintended the necessary staff.
His duties, indeed, were many. He was not quite secretary, not quite
land-agent, not quite business-adviser, not quite companion, but
something of all four. Mark leant upon him and called him "Cay,"
objecting quite rightly in the circumstances to the name of Matthew.
Cay, he felt was, above all, dependable; a big, heavy-jawed, solid
fellow, who didn't bother you with unnecessary talk--a boon to a man who
liked to do most of the talking himself.

Cayley was now twenty-eight, but had all the appearance of forty, which
was his patron's age. Spasmodically they entertained a good deal at th