old Mrs. Jones who lives in that pretty cottage near the brook. She began
praising the Vaughans in the most fulsome manner, and showed us some
flannel things they had given her at Christmas. I assure you, my dear
Mrs. Dixon, the flannel was the very best quality; no lady could wish for
better. It couldn't have cost less than half-a-crown a yard."

"I know, my dear, I know. Mr. Dixon always said it couldn't last. How
often I have heard him say that the Vaughans were pauperizing all the
common people about Pentre, and putting every one else in a most
unpleasant position. Even from a worldly point of view it was very poor
taste on their part. So different from the _true_ charity that Paul
speaks of."

"I only wish they had given away nothing worse than flannel," said Miss
Colley, a young lady of very strict views. "But I assure you there was a
perfect orgy, I can call it nothing else, every Christmas. Great joints
of prime beef, and barrels of strong beer, and snuff and tobacco
distributed wholesale; as if the poor wanted to be encouraged in their
disgusting habits. It was really impossible to go through the village for
weeks after; the whole place was poisoned with the fumes of horrid
tobacco pipes."

"Well, we see how that sort of thing ends," said Mrs. Dixon, summing up
judicially. "We had intended to call, but I really think it would be
impossible after what Mrs. Gervase has told us. The idea of Mr. Vaughan
trying to sponge on poor Mr. Gervase in that shabby way! I think meanness
of that kind is so hateful."

It was the practical side of all this that astonished Lucian. He saw that
in reality there was no high-flown quixotism in a woman's nature; the