Caermaen had feasted for years. Mr.
Vaughan had a first-rate cook, and his cellar was rare, and he was
never so happy as when he shared his good things with his friends. His
mother kept his house, and they delighted all the girls with frequent
dances, while the men sighed over the amazing champagne. Investments
proved disastrous, and Mr. Vaughan had to sell the grey manor-house by
the river. He and his mother took a little modern stucco villa in
Caermaen, wishing to be near their dear friends. But the men were "very
sorry; rough on you, Vaughan. Always thought those Patagonians were
risky, but you wouldn't hear of it. Hope we shall see you before very
long; you and Mrs. Vaughan must come to tea some day after Christmas."

"Of course we are all very sorry for them," said Henrietta Dixon. "No, we
haven't called on Mrs. Vaughan yet. They have no regular servant, you
know; only a woman in the morning. I hear old mother Vaughan, as Edward
will call her, does nearly everything. And their house is absurdly small;
it's little more than a cottage. One really can't call it a gentleman's
house."

Then Mr. Vaughn, his heart in the dust, went to the Gervases and tried to
borrow five pounds of Mr. Gervase. He had to be ordered out of the house,
and, as Edith Gervase said, it was all very painful; "he went out in such
a funny way," she added, "just like the dog when he's had a whipping. Of
course it's sad, even if it is all his own fault, as everybody says, but
he looked so ridiculous as he was going down the steps that I couldn't
help laughing." Mr. Vaughan heard the ringing, youthful laughter as he
crossed the lawn.

Young girls like Henrietta Dixon and Edith Gervase naturally viewed the
Vaughans' comical position with all the high spirits of their age, but
the elder ladies could not look at matters in this frivolous light.

"Hush, dear, hush," said Mrs. Gervase, "it's all too shocking to be a
laughing matter. Don't you agree with me, Mrs. Dixon? The sinful
extravagance that went on at Pentre always _frightened_ me. You remember
that ball they gave last year? Mr. Gervase assured me that the champagne
must have cost _at least_ a hundred and fifty shillings the dozen."

"It's dreadful, isn't it," said Mrs. Dixon, "when one thinks of how many
poor people there are who would be thankful for a crust of bread?"

"Yes, Mrs. Dixon," Agatha joined in, "and you know how absurdly the
Vaughans spoilt the cottagers. Oh, it was really wicke