Amy’s room was littered with the different articles she had dragged from her trunk, and these on her return Sherry began to put away, while Amy questioned her as to her name, and where she had lived, and in what capacity she was at Maplehurst.

Sherry told her she was waitress No. 1, that her name was Fanny, that she came from the country and was neither a saleslady, nor typewriter, nor teacher. Amy did not ask her last name. Like Mrs. Groves, she did not care. Fanny was enough, and as she seemed willing, notwithstanding the way she held her head and chin, she asked her to button her dress and fasten her collar and see if her skirt hung right. And Sherry did what was required of her and did it so well that Amy said to her, “Seems as if you must be a lady’s maid, you are so handy. Are you?”

“No, I have not that honor. I was never any one’s maid but my mother’s and sister’s. I am glad if I pleased you,” Sherry answered, and her chin certainly did take an upward tilt, and there were red spots on her cheeks as she left the room and went down to receive Mrs. Groves’ last directions before dinner.

Numbers 2, 3 and 4 were already in the anteroom looking a little anxious, except Polly, who said she didn’t care a rush for all the gentry at Maplehurst; she had seen a thing or two in Boston, had waited on a Governor, and could teach madam herself. Further remarks were prevented by the appearance of madam, who began: “Now, young women, this is your first dinner, and everything depends upon the way you acquit yourselves. If you are very awkward and make mistakes I may have to fill your places. Mr. Marsh is very particular about his table service. When the gong sounds you are to walk in slowly side by side with your trays, and take your places at your respective tables, behind the chair at the head, and don’t on any account ever put your hand on the chair or stand lopsided on one hip. Remember!”

With this injunction she went out, leaving Nos. 1, 2, 3 and 4 waiting for the gong, with Polly taking a few steps of the Highland Fling as she waited.

CHAPTER IX
THE FIRST EVENING AT MAPLEHURST

“Now then,” Polly said, when the Fling was finished, “the time for action has come. So, heads up, heels together, toes out, shoulders back, and when the gong sounds, forward march, like soldiers going to battle. There she goes!” and she sobered down as the musical gong echoed through the house, and the four girls, with faces not quite straight, marched into the dining-room and took their places, while on the stairs and in the hall there was a rustle of muslin dresses and ribbons and merry laughter, and then the gay company came in, preceded by the head-waiter, a mulatto, who had arrived that morning and whom Mrs. Groves had not dared take in hand.

He knew his business, and gave her to understand that he did, and with great dignity assigned the party their seats. The Marshes were nearest the door, and Polly, who was on the side with Sherry, gave her a comical smirk and wink as Alex. took the chair behind which Sherry was standing. It was to have been Mrs. Marsh’s seat, but as there was a window at her back which would bring her directly in a draught she exchanged with Alex., who started a little when he saw Sherry pulling his chair out for him. Friendliness and familiarity were a part of Alex.’s nature, and neither his mother nor sister could make him understand the distance there was between him and his inferiors. Pleasant words cost nothing, was his theory, and they came naturally to him for every one he met. Had it been Polly behind his chair he might only have nodded to her, and would have recognized her fitness to be there. But Sherry, with her head and chin so high, her grand Duchess manner, and the look in her face as if she thought it a big joke, was different. He had met her before, and something in her eyes made him say, involuntarily, “Hello,” as to an old acquaintance whom he was surprised and pleased to meet again; then, seeing the look of astonishment on Amy’s and his mother’s face, he said, “I hope you are over your fright.”

Sherry inclined her head and passed him the menu for his choice of soup. But her eyes met his with a laugh she could not repress. Her eyes were always betraying her, and they flashed upon Alex. a look which made him feel hot and cold, and wonder again where he had seen her or some one very like her. He might have asked her had they been alone, but the dignity with which his mother straightened herself and the expression on Amy’s face subdued him, and he sat quite still, watching Sherry as she took the orders and went down the long dining-room in the direction of the kitchen.

“Alex.,” Amy exclaimed, “are you crazy, hallooing the waitress and talking to her as if you knew her?”