Harold said, “Thank you, old chap, I don’t think I can reasonably ask you to work out for me, in tabulated form, the net value of leases that have yet to run from ten to sixty years.”
“Therein the patient must minister to himself,” said Edmund. “I suppose it is, after all, only a question of administration. If you want any advice—well, you have asked my advice before now. You have even gone the length of taking my advice—yes, sometimes. That’s more than the majority of people do—unless my advice bears out their own views. Advice, my dear Harold, is the opinion asked by one man of another when he has made up his mind what course to adopt.”
“I have always found your counsel good,” said Harold. “You know men and their motives. I have often wondered if you knew anything about women.”
Mr. Airey smiled. It was rather ridiculous that anyone so well acquainted with him as Harold was, should make use of a phrase that suggested a doubt of his capacity.
“Women—and their motives?” said he.
“Quite so,” said Harold. “Their motives. You once assured me that there was no such thing as woman in the abstract. Perhaps, assuming that that is your standpoint, you may say that it is ridiculous to talk of the motives of woman; though it would be reasonable—at least as reasonable as most talk of women—to speak of the motives of a woman.”
“What woman do you speak of?” said Edmund, quickly.
“I speak as a fool—broadly,” said Harold. “I feel myself to be a fool, when I reflect upon the wisdom of those stories told to us by Brian the boatman. The first was about a man who defrauded the revenue of the country, the other was about a cow that got jammed in the doorway of an Irish cabin. There was some practical philosophy in both those stories, and they put all questions of women and their motives out of our heads while Brian was telling them.”
“There’s no doubt about that,” said Edmund.
“By the way, didn’t you ask me for my advice on some point during one of those days on the Irish lough?”