There were four long tables with twenty girls and two teachers at each. The twelve seniors, with Miss Hull, sat apart in state on a dais at the end of the room. The tables were all narrow and the high-backed oak chairs gave the room the look of an old monastery.
There was lots of talking at dinner. The twins did not try to remember all of the girls’ names, but three of them stood out as special friends of Sally’s. One was Gladys Manners, a rough-and-tumble sort of girl with mischievous blue eyes, dark hair and a contagious giggle.
“Do you know Aunt Jane’s poll-parrot?” she asked at the beginning of the meal, and the twins loved her at once.
Prudence Standish—called Prue for brevity’s sake—sat beside Janet, and she was so attentive and thoughtful during the meal and so careful to explain what the girls meant by their many illusions of places and things that had happened in the past, that the twins’ gratitude ripened into a sincere liking before the meal was over.
The third girl sat just across from Phyllis. Her name was Ann Lourie. She hardly spoke through the meal, but her quiet smile and the humor that lay at the back of her hazel eyes gave the twins the impression of a personality worth cultivating.
The teachers at the table were Miss Remsted and Miss Jenks. They were both young and full of fun, and the twins contrasted them with the teachers at Miss Harding’s, to the latter’s disadvantage.
When dinner was over Miss Hull stood up.
“You have nothing to do tonight, girls, but get acquainted; and I want you to do that thoroughly. Remember, every new girl must be made to feel at home at Hilltop.”
The bell tinkled, the lines formed, and the girls marched back to the ballroom.