And yet always she was well aware that it was not remorse which she felt, but a miserable humiliation that she, Margaret Edes, should have cause for remorse.

The whole day had been hideous.

The letters and calls of congratulation had been incessant.
There were brief notices in a few papers which had been marked and sent to her and Wilbur had brought them home also.

Her post-office box had been crammed.

There were requests for her autograph.