Mrs. McShane looked relieved. Her face brightened. “It’s a beautiful reception, isn’t it?” she said to Farley, in an awe-stricken voice.
Farley looked vaguely about the room, as if making an estimate. “Yes,” he said, slowly. “It must have cost Briggs a tidy bit of money.”
Mrs. McShane opened wide her eyes. “And the champagne!” she whispered.
Miss Wing, who had started to walk slowly back to the table, exclaimed to her companion:
“And we didn’t have a chance to see anything!”
“Oh, well, you can go in after they’ve finished,” Farley remarked, good-naturedly.
Miss Wing assumed an air of decision. “I shall complain to Congressman Briggs of the way we’ve been treated.”
“Oh, let him alone,” said Farley. “He’s got enough on his mind. Besides, in our business it doesn’t pay to be ruffled by little things.”
“Well, I don’t see why newspaper work should prevent us from keeping our self-respect!” Miss Wing exclaimed, excitedly. “To be treated like a lot of servants!”
“Or like people who have forced themselves in, without being invited!” Miss Moore added.