“Oh, that’ll be all right. I’ve got it half-done already.”
For several moments Farley talked rapidly and Mrs. McShane took notes. She kept looking up at him in awe of his skill in observation. What a mind he must have, to be able to see so much at a glance! When, at last, she took a moment to offer a compliment, he replied, with a smile:
“Oh, this isn’t the result of my looking the place over to-night,” he said. “I know Mrs. Briggs a little, and I’ve talked the house over with her many times. In fact, I’ve had a hand in it myself.”
As he spoke Farley turned at the sound of a footstep on the stairs. His face brightened, and he started to rise from his seat.
“Good-evening, Congressman,” he said.
Douglas Briggs walked quickly down the steps. The exhilaration of the evening made him appear at his best. His gray eye was clear, and his brown hair, and lighter mustache, closely trimmed to his lip, gave him a look of youth.
“Oh, hello, Farley!” he said; “what are you doing here?” Then he observed the little woman at the table. “Why, bless my soul! Mrs. McShane, I’m delighted to see you.” He grasped Mrs. McShane’s hand cordially; then he turned, smiling at Farley.
“Great night for you, Congressman,” said the journalist.
Briggs shook his head deprecatingly. “For Mrs. Briggs, you mean. This is her blow-out.”
Mrs. McShane gathered courage to speak. “And she’s looking beautiful to-night, sir,” she said in a half-whisper.