"Please," implored Elaine, her cheeks flaming. "I feel like a hypocrite, when I look at that yacht and those foaming waves, and think of that ridiculous old dug-out and the smooth little pond. Heroine! It's the most absurd thing I ever heard of."
But though Elaine protested, the fact remains that there are more unpleasant things than to be overpraised for what one has done. Her mother's air of radiant pride, the satisfaction the other girls took in the highly decorated account of the exploit, even the reporter's superfluous adjectives were not without their agreeable side. When the departure of the girls with the rustling newspapers left the house to its customary quiet, Elaine was aware of an inconsistent, and thoroughly inexplicable impression that something very pleasant had happened.
The peremptory ringing of the telephone bell interrupted Elaine's supper. Mrs. Marshall and Grace listened to the following one-sided conversation.
"Yes, yes, it's the same one."
"Why, I didn't know."
"O, it was dreadfully exaggerated. It really wasn't anything."
"No indeed. I feel as well as ever."
"She's very well, thank you, and Grace too."
"I'm sure we're glad to know our friends haven't forgotten us."
"O, we'd be so pleased to see you any time. O, thank you, very much. Good night."