candle-shades were to be yellow, and she was to wear her yellow
chiffon gown, with touches of gold embroidery, a gold comb set with
topazes in her yellow hair, and on her breast a large, gleaming stone
which was a yellow diamond of very considerable value. Wilbur had
carried in his suit case her yellow satin slippers, her gold-beaded
fan, and the queer little wrap of leopard skin which she herself had
fashioned from a rug which her husband had given her. She had much
skill in fashioning articles for her own adornment as a cat has in
burnishing his fur, and would at any time have sacrificed the
curtains or furniture covers, had they met her needs.

She would not be obliged--crowning disgrace--to carry a bag. All she
would need would be her little case for tickets, and her change
purse, and her evening cloak had pockets. The evening cloak lay
beside the yellow chiffon gown, carefully disposed on the bed, which
had a lace counterpane over yellow satin. The cloak was of a creamy
cloth lined with mink, a sumptuous affair, and she had a tiny mink
toque with one yellow rose as head covering.

She glanced approvingly at the rich attire spread upon the bed, and
then thought again of the dreadful ferry, and her undignified hop
across the dirty station to the boat. She longed for the days of
sedan chairs, for anything rather than this. She was an exquisite
lady caught in the toils of modern cheap progress toward all her
pleasures and profits. She did not belong in a democratic country at
all unless she had millions. She was out of place, as much out of
place as a splendid Angora in an alley. Fairbridge to her instincts
was as an alley; yet since it was her alley, she had to make the best
of it. Had she not made the best of it, exalted it, magnified it, she
would have gone mad. Wherefore the triumph of Mrs. Slade in