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 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.