But Hillier said, at a separate time, “Oliver’s being dragged into a frightfully unwholesome set, vicar. I hate those people; that man Datcherd is an aggressive unbeliever, you know; he does more harm, I believe, than anyone quite realises. And one hears things said, you know, about him and Mrs. Le Moine--oh, no harm, I daresay, but one has to think of the effect on the weaker brethren. And Oliver’s bringing them into the parish, and I wouldn’t care to answer for the effects.... It made me a little sick, I don’t mind saying to you, to see Datcherd talking to the lads to-night; a word dropped here, a sneer there, and the seed is sown from which untold evil may spring. Of course, Mrs. Le Moine is a wonderful player, but that makes her influence all the more dangerous, to my mind. The lads were fascinated this evening; one saw them hanging on her words.” “I don’t suppose,” said the vicar, “that she, or Datcherd either, would say anything to hurt them.” Hillier caught him up sharply. “You approve, then? You won’t discourage Oliver’s intimacy with them, or his bringing them into the parish?” “Most certainly I shall, if it gets beyond a certain point. There’s a mean in all things.... But it’s their effect on Oliver rather than on the parish that I should be afraid of. He’s got to realise that a man can’t profitably have too many irons in the fire at once. If he’s going perpetually to run about London seeing friends, he’ll do no good as a worker. Also, it’s not good for his soul to be continually with people who are unsympathetic with the Church. He’s not strong enough or grown-up enough to stand it.” But Eddy had a delightful lunch on Sunday, and Wilkes took his class. Other Sundays followed, and other week-days, and more delightful lunches, and many concerts and theatres, and expeditions into the country, and rambles about the town, and musical evenings in St. Gregory’s parish, and, in general, a jolly life. Eddy loved the whole of life, including his work in St. Gregory’s, which he was quite as much interested in as if it had been his exclusive occupation. Ingenuously, he would try to draw his friends into pleasures which they were by temperament and training little fitted to enjoy. For instance, he said to Datcherd and Mrs. Le Moine one day, “We’ve got a mission on now in the parish. There’s an eight o’clock service on Monday night, so there’ll be no club. I wish you’d come to the service instead; it’s really good, the mission. Father Dempsey, of St. Austin’s, is taking it. Have you ever heard him?” Datcherd, in his grave, melancholy way, shook his head. Eileen smiled at Eddy, and patted his arm in the motherly manner she had for him.