The tables were not so remarkable in themselves, and yet the imprint of Sherry upon the napery, the name of Tiffany upon the silverware, the name of Haviland upon the china, and over all the glow of the small, red-shaded candelabra and the reflected tints of the walls on garments and faces, made them seem remarkable.  Each waiter added an air of exclusiveness and elegance by the manner in which he bowed, scraped, touched, and trifled with things.  The exclusively personal attention which he devoted to each one, standing half bent, ear to one side, elbows akimbo, saying:  “Soup—­green turtle, yes.  One portion, yes.  Oysters-certainly—­half-dozen—­yes.  Asparagus.  Olives—­yes.”

It would be the same with each one, only Vance essayed to order for all, inviting counsel and suggestions.  Carrie studied the company with open eyes.  So this was high life in New York.  It was so that the rich spent their days and evenings.  Her poor little mind could not rise above applying each scene to all society.  Every fine lady must be in the crowd on Broadway in the afternoon, in the theatre at the matinee, in the coaches and dining-halls at night.  It must be glow and shine everywhere, with coaches waiting, and footmen attending, and she was out of it all.  In two long years she had never even been in such a place as this.

Vance was in his element here, as Hurstwood would have been in former days.  He ordered freely of soup, oysters, roast meats, and side dishes, and had several bottles of wine brought, which were set down beside the table in a wicker basket.

Ames was looking away rather abstractedly at the crowd and showed an interesting profile to Carrie.  His forehead was high, his nose rather large and strong, his chin moderately pleasing.  He had a good, wide, well-shaped mouth, and his dark-brown hair was parted slightly on one side.  He seemed to have the least touch of boyishness to Carrie, and yet he was a man full grown.

“Do you know,” he said, turning back to Carrie, after his reflection, “I sometimes think it is a shame for people to spend so much money this way.”

Carrie looked at him a moment with the faintest touch of surprise at his seriousness.  He seemed to be thinking about something over which she had never pondered.

“Do you?” she answered, interestedly.

“Yes,” he said, “they pay so much more than these things are worth.  They put on so much show.”

“I don’t know why people shouldn’t spend when they have it,” said Mrs. Vance.

“It doesn’t do any harm,” said Vance, who was still studying the bill of fare, though he had ordered.

Ames was looking away again, and Carrie was again looking at his forehead.  To her he seemed to be thinking about strange things.  As he studied the crowd his eye was mild.

“Look at that woman’s dress over there,” he said, again turning to Carrie, and nodding in a direction.