“The people you meet certainly don’t!” snapped Miss Moore. Miss Wing turned in the direction of the drawing-room, where, from the sound of voices, most of the guests seemed to be gathering. “Well, I’d like to know who these people are, that they presume to treat us so,” she said, speaking in a loud voice, as if she wished to be overheard. “Who is Mrs. Briggs, anyway? And who are all this rag-and-bobtail? The Wings of Virginia have something back of them. They haven’t got their respectability from political trickery, anyway.” Mrs. McShane, who had been sitting, with bewilderment in her eyes, as if hardly knowing what to do, suddenly appealed to Farley. “I’ve got to get my copy in by one o’clock at the latest,” she said in a whisper. “It must be nearly twelve now.” “Come and get down to work, then, before anyone comes in here,” Farley replied. “I suppose you have the list of guests that young Fullerton passed round?” As Mrs. McShane and Farley bent over the table, the butler entered, bearing a tray covered with cups of coffee. Mrs. McShane and Farley took coffee, which they sipped as they worked. The others refused it. As Farley took his cup he said, “Good-evening, Michael,” and the man smiled and replied, “Good-evening, sir.” “I feel like tearing up my list,” said Miss Wing, as she held the printed slip in her gloved hand. “I see,” she went on, addressing Miss Moore, “they’ve got the Westmorelands down. Is Lady Westmoreland here?” she asked, as Michael was about to ascend the steps. “She’s been here, ma’am, but she went away before supper.” Miss Wing’s lip curled. “Oh, well, they _got_ her, didn’t they?” Before Michael had time to vanish she cried: “And is Stone here?” “Who, ma’am?” the servant asked, turning again. His manner subtly conveyed resentment and dislike. Miss Wing repeated: “_Mr._ Stone.” “He’s in the drawing-room, ma’am; I just saw him in there.” Miss Wing turned to her companion. “Just think of their having Stone here! Suppose we go and see if we can find him? I’d like to see how he looks in society. I shouldn’t be surprised to find him in his shirt sleeves. Well, Congressman Briggs knows which side his bread is buttered on. He keeps solid with the Boss.” Farley stopped work for a moment. “I wonder who prepared this list!” he said to Mrs. McShane. “Good idea!” “How do you happen to be doing society work, Mr. Farley?” the old woman asked. Farley smiled. “Well, it is rather out of my line, I must admit. If I had to do this sort of thing very much I’d quit the business. But our little Miss Carey is sick, and she was afraid she’d lose her job if she didn’t cover this.” The wistful look deepened in Mrs. McShane’s face. “So you said you’d do it! You must have a kind heart, Mr. Farley. Oh, I wish they’d give a description of the dresses with the list of guests!” she added, despairingly. “It would save us a lot of bother.” “I’ve a good mind to fake my stuff about the frocks,” Miss Wing interposed.