The waiters glanced at us in surprise, but it was nothing to the sensation we created when we rose to go out of the dining-room. People nudged each other and stared at us. Of the French maid who came to unfasten my dress I asked:
“Do we seem very foreign?”
“No, indeed,” she replied, “I should have taken Mademoiselle for a French girl, except that she wears her hair loose on her back.”
“Then why did the people in the dining-room stare at us so?”
She suppressed a giggle. “Yes, I know, Mademoiselle, I have heard about it. It is the flower Mademoiselle is wearing.”
“What is the matter with it?”
“Nothing, except that it is not a flower—it is a vegetable, called celery.”
I do not know how many more absurd things we did during the three weeks we stayed at the hotel. Then we took a flat near Riverside Drive the rent of which staggered us, but when it came to the servants we almost wept. Four pounds a month to slovenly girls who were only half-trained, who made a noise when they walked, and who slammed the doors every other minute.
I was anxious to start my English studies at once, for as yet I could only say “All right,” a phrase which everybody used, à propos of nothing, it seemed to me. I went to the Normal College to inquire about the conditions for entering it. The president received me. He was the first American man with whom I talked. He had lovely white hair, and a kind, fatherly face. He spoke no French, and sent for a student who did; and when she translated to him what I wanted, he explained that I could not enter college until I knew English and could pass my entrance examinations. The young girl who translated offered to teach me English for a sum, which, to me, coming from the East and cheap labour and possessor of small financial resources, seemed preposterous. Still I liked her eyes: they were dark blue, and green, and grey, all at once, with long and pretty lashes; so I accepted her offer. That very evening she gave me my first lesson, and proposed that instead of paying her I should improve her French in exchange for her English lessons, an offer that I was very glad to accept. She was my first American friend, and remains among my very best.
We had only been a few months in New York when my Greek friends were obliged to return to Turkey. I resolved to remain behind. I must confess at once that I did so out of pride alone. New York had frightened me more than the capture by the brigands, the earthquake, and an Armenian massacre in which I once found myself, all put together. Yet to go back was to admit that I had failed, that the world had beaten me, and after only a very few months.