Briggs let his hand rest affectionately on the old woman’s arm. “My dear lady,” he said, in the confidential manner that had won friends for him all through life, “between you and me, she’s the prettiest woman in Washington. But you mustn’t put that in the paper.”
Mrs. McShane glowed. “I won’t, sir; but it’s true, just the same.”
Briggs glanced from Mrs. McShane to Farley and again at Mrs. McShane. “What are you two people doing in here, all alone?” he asked, in the tone of the host who catches his guests moping.
“We’re trying to get some notes together,” Farley explained. “But we’re all at sea about the dresses,” he added, with a smile.
The music had just ceased, and they heard a rustle of skirts in the next room. Suddenly Fanny Wallace stood among the palms. As she was looking back over her shoulder she did not observe the group in the conservatory.
“Isn’t it good to get out of the crowd?” she said, when Guy Fullerton had come up to her. Suddenly she turned and glanced through the palm leaves. “Oh, I didn’t know anyone was here!”
“You’re just the person we’re looking for, my dear,” Douglas Briggs exclaimed. “This is Fanny Wallace, my wife’s niece, Mrs. McShane. She’ll take you through the rooms. She knows all about the pretty frocks. It’s all she thinks about.”
Fanny looked reproachfully at Briggs. Then she darted toward the old woman. “Oh, Mrs. McShane, I want you to see Mrs. Senator Aspinwall’s dress before she leaves. It’s gorgeous.” She turned to the youth, who had dropped into conversation with Farley, and seized him by the coat-sleeve. “Mrs. McShane, this is Mr. Fullerton,” she said, impressively, “Mr. Guy Fullerton. He’s a very important young man,” she went on. “He’s my uncle’s secretary. Think of that! You can come, too, infant, if you like,” she concluded, with a change of tone. “You need to learn something about frocks.”
The young man laughed good-humoredly and followed Fanny, who had unceremoniously taken Mrs. McShane by the arm. As they were disappearing, Farley called out: “I’ll rely on you, Mrs. McShane.”
Fanny replied for the old woman. “We’ll be in the conservatory in half an hour with yards of description. Oh, this is lovely!” she exclaimed, with a little jump. “I always wanted to be a newspaper woman.”