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