Mrs. Hurstwood was not aware of any of her husband's moral defections,though she might readily have suspected his tendencies, which she wellunderstood. She was a woman upon whose action under provocation youcould never count. Hurstwood, for one, had not the slightest idea ofwhat she would do under certain circumstances. He had never seen herthoroughly aroused. In fact, she was not a woman who would fly into apassion. She had too little faith in mankind not to know that they wereerring. She was too calculating to jeopardise any advantage she mightgain in the way of information by fruitless clamour. Her wrath wouldnever wreak itself in one fell blow. She would wait and brood, studyingthe details and adding to them until her power might be commensuratewith her desire for revenge. At the same time, she would not delay toinflict any injury, big or little, which would wound the object of herrevenge and still leave him uncertain as to the source of the evil. Shewas a cold, self-centred woman, with many a thought of her own whichnever found expression, not even by so much as the glint of an eye.

Hurstwood felt some of this in her nature, though he did not actuallyperceive it. He dwelt with her in peace and some satisfaction. He didnot fear her in the least--there was no cause for it. She still took afaint pride in him, which was augmented by her desire to have hersocial integrity maintained. She was secretly somewhat pleased by thefact that much of her husband's property was in her name, a precautionwhich Hurstwood had taken when his home interests were somewhat morealluring than at present. His wife had not the slightest reason to feelthat anything would ever go amiss with their household, and yet theshadows which run before gave her a thought of the good of it now andthen. She was in a position to become refractory with considerableadvantage, and Hurstwood conducted himself circumspectly because he feltthat he could not be sure of anything once she became dissatisfied.

It so happened that on the night when Hurstwood, Carrie, and Drouet werein the box at McVickar's, George, Jr., was in the sixth row of theparquet with the daughter of H. B. Carmichael, the third partner of awholesale dry-goods house of that city. Hurstwood did not see his son,for he sat, as was his wont, as far back as possible, leaving himselfjust partially visible, when he bent forward, to those within the firstsix rows in question. It was his wont to sit this way in everytheatre--to make his personality as inconspicuous as possible where itwould be no advantage to him to have it otherwise.

He never moved but what, if there was any danger of his conduct beingmisconstrued or ill-reported, he looked carefully about him and countedthe cost of every inch of conspicuity.

The next morning at breakfast his son said:

"I saw you, Governor, last night."

"Were you at McVickar's?" said Hurstwood, with the best grace in theworld.

"Yes," said young George.

"Who with?"

"Miss Carmichael."

Mrs. Hurstwood directed an inquiring glance at her husband, but couldnot judge from his appearance whether it was any more than a casual lookinto the theatre which was referred to.

"How was the play?" she inquired.

"Very good," returned Hurstwood, "only it's the same old thing, 'Rip VanWinkle.'"

"Whom did you go with?" queried his wife, with assumed indifference.

"Charlie Drouet and his wife. They are friends of Moy's, visiting here."

Owing to the peculiar nature of his position, such a disclosure as thiswould ordinarily create no difficulty. His wife took it for granted thathis situation called for certain social movements in which she might notbe included. But of late he had pleaded office duty on several occasionswhen his wife asked for his company to any evening entertainment. He haddone so in regard to the very evening in question only the morningbefore.

"I thought you were going to be busy," she remarked, very carefully.

"So I was," he exclaimed. "I couldn't help the interruption, but I madeup for it afterward by working until two."

This settled the discussion for the time being, but there was a residueof opinion which was not satisfactory. There was no time at which theclaims of his wife could have been more unsatisfactorily pushed. Foryears he had been steadily modifying his matrimonial devotion, and foundher company dull. Now that a new light shone upon the horizon, thisolder luminary paled in the west. He was satisfied to turn his face awayentirely, and any call to look back was irksome.

She, on the contrary, was not at all inclined to accept anything lessthan a complete fulfilment of the letter of their relationship, thoughthe spirit might be wanting.

"We are coming down town this afternoon," she remarked, a few dayslater. "I want you to come over to Kinsley's and meet Mr. Phillips andhis wife. They're stopping at the Tremont, and we're going to show themaround a little."

After the occurrence of Wednesday, he could not refuse, though thePhillips were about as uninteresting as vanity and ignorance could makethem. He agreed, but it was with short grace. He was angry when he leftthe house.

"I'll put a stop to this," he thought. "I'm not going to be botheredfooling around with visitors when I have work to do."

Not long after this Mrs. Hurstwood came with a similar proposition, onlyit was to a matinée this time.

"My dear," he returned, "I haven't time. I'm too busy."

"You find time to go with other people, though," she replied, withconsiderable irritation.

"Nothing of the kind," he answered. "I can't avoid business relations,and that's all there is to it."

"Well, never mind," she exclaimed. Her lips tightened. The feeling ofmutual antagonism was increased.

On the other hand, his interest in Drouet's little shop-girl grew in analmost evenly balanced proportion. That young lady, under the stress ofher situation and the tutelage of her new friend, changed effectively.She had the aptitude of the struggler who seeks emancipation. The glowof a more showy life was not lost upon her. She did not grow inknowledge so much as she awakened in the matter of desire. Mrs. Hale'sextended harangues upon the subjects of wealth and position taught herto distinguish between degrees of wealth.

Mrs. Hale loved to drive in the afternoon in the sun when it was fine,and to satisfy her soul with a sight of those mansions and lawns whichshe could not afford. On the North Side had been erected a number ofelegant mansions along what is now known as the North Shore Drive. Thepresent lake wall of stone and granitoid was not then in place, but theroad had been well laid out, the intermediate spaces of lawn were lovelyto look upon, and the houses were thoroughly new and imposing. When thewinter season had passed and the first fine days of the early springappeared, Mrs. Hale secured a buggy for an afternoon and invited Carrie.They rode first through Lincoln Park and on far out towards Evanston,turning back at four and arriving at the north end of the Shore Drive atabout five o'clock. At this time of year the days are stillcomparatively short, and the shadows of the evening were beginning tosettle down upon the great city. Lamps were beginning to burn with thatmellow radiance which seems almost watery and translucent to the eye.There was a softness in the air which speaks with an infinite delicacyof feeling to the flesh as well as to the soul. Carrie felt that it wasa lovely day. She was ripened by it in spirit for many suggestions. Asthey drove along the smooth pavement an occasional carriage passed. Shesaw one stop and the footman dismount, opening the door for a gentlemanwho seemed to be leisurely returning from some afternoon pleasure.Across the broad lawns, now first freshening into green, she saw lampsfaintly glowing upon rich interiors. Now it was but a chair, now atable, now an ornate corner, which met her eye, but it appealed to heras almost nothing else could. Such childish fancies as she had had offairy palaces and kingly quarters now came back. She imagined thatacross these richly carved entrance-ways, where the globed andcrystalled lamps shone upon panelled doors set with stained and designedpanes of glass, was neither care nor unsatisfied desire. She wasperfectly certain that here was happiness. If she could but stroll upyon broad walk, cross that rich entrance-way, which to her was of thebeauty of a jewel, and sweep in grace and luxury to possession andcommand--oh! how quickly would sadness flee; how, in an instant, wouldthe heartache end. She gazed and gazed, wondering, delighting, longing,and all the while the siren voice of the unrestful was whispering in herear.

"If we could have such a home as that," said Mrs. Hale sadly, "howdelightful it would be."

"And yet they do say," said Carrie, "that no one is ever happy."

She had heard so much of the canting philosophy of the grapeless fox.

"I notice," said Mrs. Hale, "that they all try mighty hard, though, totake their misery in a mansion."

When she came to her own rooms, Carrie saw their comparativeinsignificance. She was not so dull but that she could perceive theywere but three small rooms in a moderately well-furnishedboarding-house. She was not contrasting it now with what she had had,but what she had so recently seen. The glow of the palatial doors wasstill in her eye, the roll of cushioned carriages still in her ears.What, after all, was Drouet? What was she? At her window, she thought itover, rocking to and fro, and gazing out across the lamp-lit park towardthe lamp-lit houses on Warren and Ashland avenues. She was too wroughtup to care to go down to eat, too pensive to do aught but rock and sing.Some old tunes crept to her lips, and, as she sang them, her heart sank.She longed and longed and longed. It was now for the old cottage room inColumbia City, now the mansion upon the Shore Drive, now the fine dressof some lady, now the elegance of some scene. She was sad beyondmeasure, and yet uncertain, wishing, fancying. Finally, it seemed as ifall her state was one of loneliness and forsakenness, and she couldscarce refrain from trembling at the lip. She hummed and hummed as themoments went by, sitting in the shadow by the window, and was therein ashappy, though she did not perceive it, as she ever would be.

While Carrie was still in this frame of mind, the house-servant broughtup the intelligence that Mr. Hurstwood was in the parlour asking to seeMr. and Mrs. Drouet.

"I guess he doesn't know that Charlie is out of town," thought Carrie.

She had seen comparatively little of the manager during the winter, buthad been kept constantly in mind of him by one thing and another,principally by the strong impression he had made. She was quitedisturbed for the moment as to her appearance, but soon satisfiedherself by the aid of the mirror, and went below.

Hurstwood was in his best form, as usual. He hadn't heard that Drouetwas out of town. He was but slightly affected by the intelligence, anddevoted himself to the more general topics which would interest Carrie.It was surprising--the ease with which he conducted a conversation. Hewas like every man who has had the advantage of practice and knows hehas sympathy. He knew that Carrie listened to him pleasurably, and,without the least effort, he fell into a train of observation whichabsorbed her fancy. He drew up his chair and modulated his voice to sucha degree that what he said seemed wholly confidential. He confinedhimself almost exclusively to his observation of men and pleasures. Hehad been here and there, he had seen this and that. Somehow he madeCarrie wish to see similar things, and all the while kept her aware ofhimself. She could not shut out the consciousness of his individualityand presence for a moment. He would raise his eyes slowly in smilingemphasis of something, and she was fixed by their magnetism. He woulddraw out, with the easiest grace, her approval. Once he touched her handfor emphasis and she only smiled. He seemed to radiate an atmospherewhich suffused her being. He was never dull for a minute, and seemed tomake her clever. At least, she brightened under his influence until allher best side was exhibited. She felt that she was more clever with himthan with others. At least, he seemed to find so much in her to applaud.There was not the slightest touch of patronage. Drouet was full of it.

There had been something so personal, so subtle, in each meeting betweenthem, both when Drouet was present and when he was absent, that Carriecould not speak of it without feeling a sense of difficulty. She was notalker. She could never arrange her thoughts in fluent order. It wasalways a matter of feeling with her, strong and deep. Each time therehad been no sentence of importance which she could relate, and as forthe glances and sensations, what woman would reveal them? Such thingshad never been between her and Drouet. As a matter of fact, they couldnever be. She had been dominated by distress and the enthusiastic forcesof relief which Drouet represented at an opportune moment when sheyielded to him. Now she was persuaded by secret current feelings whichDrouet had never understood. Hurstwood's glance was as effective as thespoken words of a lover, and more. They called for no immediatedecision, and could not be answered.

People in general attach too much importance to words. They are underthe illusion that talking effects great results. As a matter of fact,words are, as a rule, the shallowest portion of all the argument. Theybut dimly represent the great surging feelings and desires which liebehind. When the distraction of the tongue is removed, the heartlistens.

In this conversation she heard, instead of his words, the voices of thethings which he represented. How suave was the counsel of hisappearance! How feelingly did his superior state speak for itself! Thegrowing desire he felt for her lay upon her spirit as a gentle hand. Shedid not need to tremble at all, because it was invisible; she did notneed to worry over what other people would say--what she herself wouldsay--because it had no tangibility. She was being pleaded with,persuaded, led into denying old rights and assuming new ones, and yetthere were no words to prove it. Such conversation as was indulged inheld the same relationship to the actual mental enactments of the twainthat the low music of the orchestra does to the dramatic incident whichit is used to cover.

"Have you ever seen the houses along the Lake Shore on the North Side?"asked Hurstwood.

"Why, I was just over there this afternoon--Mrs. Hale and I. Aren't theybeautiful?"

"They're very fine," he answered.

"Oh, me," said Carrie, pensively. "I wish I could live in such a place."

"You're not happy," said Hurstwood, slowly, after a slight pause.

He had raised his eyes solemnly and was looking into her own. He assumedthat he had struck a deep chord. Now was a slight chance to say a wordin his own behalf. He leaned over quietly and continued his steady gaze.He felt the critical character of the period. She endeavoured to stir,but it was useless. The whole strength of a man's nature was working. Hehad good cause to urge him on. He looked and looked, and the longer thesituation lasted the more difficult it became. The little shop-girl wasgetting into deep water. She was letting her few supports float awayfrom her.

"Oh," she said at last, "you mustn't look at me like that."

"I can't help it," he answered.

She relaxed a little and let the situation endure, giving him strength.

"You are not satisfied with life, are you?"

"No," she answered, weakly.

He saw he was the master of the situation--he felt it. He reached overand touched her hand.

"You mustn't," she exclaimed, jumping up.

"I didn't intend to," he answered, easily.

She did not run away, as she might have done. She did not terminate theinterview, but he drifted off into a pleasant field of thought with thereadiest grace. Not long after he rose to go, and she felt that he wasin power.

"You mustn't feel bad," he said, kindly; "things will straighten out inthe course of time."

She made no answer, because she could think of nothing to say.

"We are good friends, aren't we?" he said, extending his hand.

"Yes," she answered.

"Not a word, then, until I see you again."

He retained a hold on her hand.

"I can't promise," she said, doubtfully.

"You must be more generous than that," he said, in such a simple waythat she was touched.

"Let's not talk about it any more," she returned.

"All right," he said, brightening.

He went down the steps and into his cab. Carrie closed the door andascended into her room. She undid her broad lace collar before themirror and unfastened her pretty alligator belt which she had recentlybought.

"I'm getting terrible," she said, honestly affected by a feeling oftrouble and shame. "I don't seem to do anything right."

She unloosed her hair after a time, and let it hang in loose brownwaves. Her mind was going over the events of the evening.

"I don't know," she murmured at last, "what I can do."

"Well," said Hurstwood as he rode away, "she likes me all right; that Iknow."

The aroused manager whistled merrily for a good four miles to his officean old melody that he had not recalled for fifteen years.