As Marjorie and Tom started to follow them some new arrivals pushed rudely between, and an instant later, the packed elevator shot upward.
“Never mind, we’ll catch the next one,” said Tom consolingly, as he darted to the second shaft. “It’s coming down now.” They waited impatiently for the passengers in the elevator to step out in the square hall, then entered and found they had the lift to themselves. The elevator boy was about to release the lever, when the starter tapped on the glass partition, and throwing open the door, permitted Representative J. Calhoun-Cooper to step inside.
“Good evening, sir,” said Marjorie cordially.
“Oh, how do you do,” replied Calhoun-Cooper, somewhat taken aback on recognizing his companions. He barely nodded to Tom, whose greeting was equally curt; and Marjorie, becoming aware of the apparently strained relations between the two men, broke the awkward silence.
“I am afraid you are too late to see the ball at its height,” she said.
“I couldn’t get here any earlier,” answered Calhoun-Cooper. “Have you seen my wife and daughter this evening?”
“Yes; they finished supper before we did, and have already gone back to the ballroom.”
Calhoun-Cooper, who had been watching Marjorie with peculiar intentness, wheeled on Tom.
“My congratulations, Captain,” he said sardonically. “You executed my commission with commendable quickness.”
“I don’t catch your meaning, sir,” retorted Tom frigidly.