id inwardly, "Hang
Grandmother."

In his inmost self, Von Rosen was not a model clergyman. He, however,
had no reason whatever to hang grandmother, but quite the reverse,
although he did not so conclude, as he considered the matter on his
way home. It seemed to him that this darling of a girl was fairly
hedged in by a barbed wire fence of feminine relatives.

He passed the Edes' house on his way and saw that a number of the
upper windows were still lighted. He even heard a masculine voice
pitched on a high cadence of joy and triumph. He smiled a little
scornfully. "He thinks his wife is the most wonderful woman in the
world," he told himself, "and I dare say that a novel is simply like
an over-sweetened ice-cream, with an after taste of pepper, out of
sheer deviltry." Had he known it, Margaret Edes herself was tasting
pepper, mustard and all the fierce condiments known, in her very
soul. It was a singular thing that Margaret had been obliged to
commit an ignoble deed in order to render her soul capable of tasting
to the full, but she had been so constituted. As Karl von Rosen
passed that night, she was sitting in her room, clad in her white
silk negligee and looking adorable, and her husband was fairly on his
knees before her, worshipping her, and she was suffering after a
fashion hitherto wholly uncomprehended by her. Margaret had never
known that she could possibly be to blame for anything, that she
could sit in judgment upon herself. Now she knew it and the knowledge
brought a torture which had been unimaginable by her. She strove not
to make her shrinking from her husband and his exultation--her
terrified shrinking--evident.

"Oh, Margaret, you are simply wonderful beyond words," said Wilbur,
gazing up into her face. "I always knew you were wonderful, of
course, darling, but this! Why, Margaret, you have gained an
international reputation from that one book! And the reviews have
been unanimous, almost unanimous in their praise. I have not read it,
dear. I am so ashamed of myself, but you know I never read novels,
but I am going to read my Margaret's novel. Oh, my dear, my
wonderful, wonderful dear!" Wilbur almost sobbed. "Do you know what
it may do for me, too?" he said. "Do you know, Margaret, it may mean
my election as Senator. One can never tell what may sway popular
opinion. Once, if anybody had told me that I might be elected to
office and my election might possibly be due to the fact that my wife
had di