evening wrap and her general magnificence.

Poor Mrs. Edes was so small and slight that holding up magnificence
and treading the deck with her high-heeled shoes was physically
fatiguing. Had she been of a large, powerful physique, had her body
matched her mind, she might not have felt a sense of angry
humiliation. As it was, she realised that for her, _her_, to be
obliged to cross the ferry was an insult at the hands of Providence.
But the tunnel was no better, perhaps worse,--that plunged into
depths below the waters, like one in a public bath. Anything so
exquisite, so dainty, so subtly fine and powerful as herself, should
not have been condemned to this. She should have been able to give
her dinners in her own magnificent New York mansion. As it was, there
was nothing for her except to dress and accept the inevitable.

It was as bad as if Napoleon the Great had been forced to ride to
battle on a trolley car, instead of being booted and spurred and
astride a charger, which lifted one fore-leg in a fling of scorn. Of
course Wilbur would meet her, and they would take a taxicab, but even
a taxicab seemed rather humiliating to her. It should have been her
own private motor car. And she would be obliged to descend the stairs
at the station ungracefully, one hand clutching nervously at the tail
of her gorgeous gown, the other at her evening cloak. It was
absolutely impossible for so slight a woman to descend stairs with
dignity and grace, holding up an evening cloak and a long gown.

However, there would be compensations later. She thought, with
decided pleasure, of the private dining-room, and the carefully
planned and horribly expensive decorations, which would be eminently
calculated to form a suitable background for herself. The flowers and