“You’re not from the West, are you?”

“Yes.  I’m from Wisconsin,” she answered.

“Well, it does seem as if most people in this town haven’t been here so very long.  I hear of lots of Indiana people in my line who are here.”

“What is your line?” asked Carrie.

“I’m connected with an electrical company,” said the youth.

Carrie followed up this desultory conversation with occasional interruptions from the Vances.  Several times it became general and partially humorous, and in that manner the restaurant was reached.

Carrie had noticed the appearance of gayety and pleasure-seeking in the streets which they were following.  Coaches were numerous, pedestrians many, and in Fifty-ninth Street the street cars were crowded.  At Fifty-ninth Street and Fifth Avenue a blaze of lights from several new hotels which bordered the Plaza Square gave a suggestion of sumptuous hotel life.  Fifth Avenue, the home of the wealthy, was noticeably crowded with carriages, and gentlemen in evening dress.  At Sherry’s an imposing doorman opened the coach door and helped them out.  Young Ames held Carrie’s elbow as he helped her up the steps.  They entered the lobby already swarming with patrons, and then, after divesting themselves of their wraps, went into a sumptuous dining-room.

In all Carrie’s experience she had never seen anything like this.  In the whole time she had been in New York Hurstwood’s modified state had not permitted his bringing her to such a place.  There was an almost indescribable atmosphere about it which convinced the newcomer that this was the proper thing.  Here was the place where the matter of expense limited the patrons to the moneyed or pleasure-loving class.  Carrie had read of it often in the “Morning” and “Evening World.”  She had seen notices of dances, parties, balls, and suppers at Sherry’s.  The Misses So-and-so would give a party on Wednesday evening at Sherry’s.  Young Mr. So-and-So would entertain a party of friends at a private luncheon on the sixteenth, at Sherry’s.  The common run of conventional, perfunctory notices of the doings of society, which she could scarcely refrain from scanning each day, had given her a distinct idea of the gorgeousness and luxury of this wonderful temple of gastronomy.  Now, at last, she was really in it.  She had come up the imposing steps, guarded by the large and portly doorman.  She had seen the lobby, guarded by another large and portly gentleman, and been waited upon by uniformed youths who took care of canes, overcoats, and the like.  Here was the splendid dining-chamber, all decorated and aglow, where the wealthy ate.  Ah, how fortunate was Mrs. Vance; young, beautiful, and well off—­at least, sufficiently so to come here in a coach.  What a wonderful thing it was to be rich.