We visited the stables, the garage, an artesian well newly driven, a drive that was to skirt the sea, a sunken garden some distance from the house and away from the sea.

Next spring I came once more—­several times, in fact.  The rose garden was then in bloom, the drives finished, the pictures hung.  Although this was not a world in which society as yet deigned to move, it was entirely conceivable that at a later period it might, and betimes it was crowded with people smart enough and more agreeable in the main than the hardy, strident members of the so-called really inner circles.  There were artists, writers, playwrights, singers, actresses, and some nondescript figures of the ultra-social world—­young men principally who seemed to come here in connection with beautiful young women, models and other girls whose beauty was their only recommendation to consideration.

The scene was not without brilliance.  A butler and numerous flunkeys fluttered to and fro.  Guests were received at the door by a footman.  A housekeeper and various severe-looking maids governed in the matter of cleaning.  One could play golf, tennis, bridge, motor, fish, swim, drink in a free and even disconcerting manner or read quietly in one angle or another of the grounds.  There were affairs, much flirting and giggling, suspicious wanderings to and fro at night—­no questions asked as to who came or whether one was married, so long as a reasonable amount of decorum was maintained.  It was the same on other occasions, only the house and grounds were full to overflowing with guests and passing friends, whose machines barked in the drives.  I saw as many gay and fascinating costumes and heard as much clever and at times informative talk here as anywhere I have been.

During this fall and winter I was engaged in work which kept me very much to myself.  During the period I read much of X——­, banks he was combining, new ventures he was undertaking.  Yet all at once one winter’s day, and out of a clear sky, the papers were full of an enormous financial crash of which he was the center.  According to the newspapers, the first and foremost of a chain of banks of which he was the head, to say nothing of a bonding and realty company and some street-railway project on Long Island, were all involved in the crash.  Curiously, although no derogatory mention had previously been made of him, the articles and editorials were now most vituperative.  Their venom was especially noticeable.  He was a get-rich-quick villain of the vilest stripe; he had been juggling a bank, a trust company, an insurance company and a land and street-railway speculative scheme as one would glass balls.  The money wherewith he gambled was not his.  He had robbed the poor, deceived them.  Yet among all this and in the huge articles which appeared the very first day, I noted one paragraph which stuck in my mind, for I was naturally interested in all this and in him.  It read: