“I want to know about her family,” Frank repeated. “No Five Points, no Bowery, no drinking or gambling, and no Tammany Hall.”

When they came from Irving Place into Gramercy Park and Mary saw the size of the house, she took a deep breath. They went to the trades entrance, but in no time a maid in a starched cap led them through the stately main hall, across the echoing marble floor, and into a sitting room with a thick Turkish carpet, where she told them they might sit on a padded sofa.

“Oh God, Gretchen,” whispered Mary, “will you look at this place? I wouldn’t know what to do in a house like this.”

“You’ll be fine,” said Gretchen. “She’s very nice.”

As if to confirm this fact, Hetty Master appeared at the door, and sat down in an armchair opposite them.

“So you are Mary,” she said pleasantly. “And Gretchen, of course, I know very well.” She smiled. “You’ve been acquainted with each other a long time, I believe.”

The lady of the house was wearing a pale brown silk gown. Her hair, which had a hint of red in it, was parted in the middle and neatly arranged in ringlets over her ears. She was still young, about thirty, Mary guessed. And she certainly seemed friendly. But even so, at this moment, all Mary could manage was a nervous, “Yes, ma’am.”

Gretchen came to her aid.

“When I first came to New York, Mrs. Master, Mary and her family were very kind to me. Mrs. O’Donnell, God rest her soul, helped me to learn English.” She turned to Mary with a smile. “There’s been hardly a day since when one of us hasn’t been in the other’s house.”

Mrs. Master nodded with approval, and Mary marveled at her friend’s cunning. Gretchen wouldn’t set foot in the O’Donnells’ lodgings if she could help it. But since Mary was often at the Kellers’, technically the statement was true.

“Yet you seem very different,” Mrs. Master remarked.

More than you know, thought Mary. But amazingly, Gretchen contradicted her.

“I’m German and Mary’s Irish,” she said, “but we both come from big farming families—my father has cousins farming in Pennsylvania—so I suppose farming families all think the same way.”

Mary knew about the Kellers’ farming cousins. But the O’Donnells’? Sometimes, after a drink or two, her father would speak of the family land back in Ireland, though God knows whether that meant her ancestors had lived in a farmhouse or a hovel. But Gretchen made it sound so solid and respectable.

“And your two families live near each other in Germantown?”

“Yes,” said Gretchen. She smiled. “Mr. O’Donnell goes to my uncle for his cigars.”

“And what does your father do?” Mrs. Master asked Mary, looking straight at her.

“He’s a mason,” said Mary.