Farley, however, kept on writing. “To do newspaper work,” he commented, with exasperating coolness, “you mustn’t have any feelings.”
“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.