Madeline by Mary Jane Holmes

Saturday came at last, a balmy September day, when all nature seemed conspiring to welcome the travelers for whom so extensive preparations had been made at Aikenside. They were expected at about six in the afternoon, and just before that hour the doctor rode up to be in readiness to meet them. In the dining-room the table was set as Maddy had never seen it set before, making, with its silver, its china, and cut-glass, a glittering display. There was Guy's seat as carver, with Agnes at the urn, while Maddy felt sure that the two plates between Agnes and Guy were intended for Jessie and herself, the doctor occupying the other side. Jessie would sit next to her mother, which would leave her next to Guy, where he could see every movement she made. Would he think her awkward, or would he, as he hoped, be so much absorbed with the doctor as not to notice her? Suppose she should drop her fork, or upset one of those queer looking goblets on the sideboard, which looked more like bowls than anything else. It would be terrible, and Maddy's cheeks tingled at the very thought of such a catastrophe. Were they really goblets, those funny colored things, and if they were not, what were they? Summoning all her courage, she asked the doctor, her prime counselor, and learned that they were the finger-glasses, of which she had read, but which she had never seen before.

"Oh, must _I_ use them? " she asked, in so evident distress that the doctor could not forbear a laugh as he told her it was not of the slightest consequence whether she used them or not, advising her to watch Mrs. Agnes, who was _au fait_ in all such matters.