" She
hurried to the door. "Order the car, I say! I'll get my wraps."
Mrs. Stanton divided rueful gaze between her own evening gown and Lana's.
"Are you going with that dress on?"
"I certainly am!" Lana called from the corridor, running toward her
apartments.
"Well," Mrs. Stanton informed her brother, "this gown has served me all
evening during the political rally that somebody tried to pass off as a
reception. Probably it will do very well for the mob-affair. I'll go for
my furs."
"That's a brick!" was her brother's indorsement. "She needs us both. But
don't be frightened, sis! It's only a political flurry, and such fusses
are usually more fizz than fight. I'll have the car around to the door in
a jab of a jiffy!"
By the time the limousine swung under the _porte-coch?re_ Lana was down
and waiting; Mrs. Stanton came hurrying after, ready to defy a January
midnight in a cocoon of kolinsky.
Coventry had ridden from the garage with the chauffeur. "I have been
talking with Wallace. He thinks he'd better drive to the State House by
detour through the parkway."
"Go straight down through the city," commanded the mistress. "I'm not
afraid of my hometown folks.
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