"Yes, and as a girl I used to take in plain—"
"Hush, Maria!" said her husband. "It is unnecessary. A wife always takes the rank of her husband in any society."
Mrs. McFarlane caught the idea at once, and leaning back with folded hands, she looked about patronizingly on those whose position under the new order was less solidly founded than her own.
The complete success of Mr. McFarlane pointed the way to others, whose training had made them quick to learn new methods of pleasing—when they wanted to please. In a few minutes astounding revelations had been made on all sides. Mr. Lossing, the haughty and exclusive Mr. Lossing, confessed, or rather he loudly and repeatedly asserted, that he had long been secretly married to his cook—than whom, he insisted, no one was a more persistent and skillful manual worker. Mr. Barnsell, who had always seemed to live remarkably well on the proceeds of a somewhat tenuous law-practice, pleaded for publicity for the fact that his father had kept a tailor's shop—and he offered to produce photographs in proof of his statement.
"Did you ever work in this shop?" asked the delegate.
"I'm afraid not," answered Mr. Barnsell reluctantly. "My mother,—you know how petty women are about class distinctions,—she wanted me to rise in the world—"
"Rise!" exclaimed the delegate haughtily. "You are untrue to your class, sir."
"Perhaps—a little," murmured Mr. Barnsell meekly.