The misfortune of the Hurstwood household was due to the fact thatjealousy, having been born of love, did not perish with it. Mrs.Hurstwood retained this in such form that subsequent influences couldtransform it into hate. Hurstwood was still worthy, in a physical sense,of the affection his wife had once bestowed upon him, but in a socialsense he fell short. With his regard died his power to be attentive toher, and this, to a woman, is much greater than outright crime towardanother. Our self-love dictates our appreciation of the good or evil inanother. In Mrs. Hurstwood it discoloured the very hue of her husband'sindifferent nature. She saw design in deeds and phrases which sprungonly from a faded appreciation of her presence.

As a consequence, she was resentful and suspicious. The jealousy thatprompted her to observe every falling away from the little amenities ofthe married relation on his part served to give her notice of the airygrace with which he still took the world. She could see from thescrupulous care which he exercised in the matter of his personalappearance that his interest in life had abated not a jot. Every motion,every glance had something in it of the pleasure he felt in Carrie, ofthe zest this new pursuit of pleasure lent to his days. Mrs. Hurstwoodfelt something, sniffing change, as animals do danger, afar off.

This feeling was strengthened by actions of a direct and more potentnature on the part of Hurstwood. We have seen with what irritation heshirked those little duties which no longer contained any amusement orsatisfaction for him, and the open snarls with which, more recently, heresented her irritating goads. These little rows were reallyprecipitated by an atmosphere which was surcharged with dissension. Thatit would shower, with a sky so full of blackening thunder-clouds, wouldscarcely be thought worthy of comment. Thus, after leaving the breakfasttable this morning, raging inwardly at his blank declaration ofindifference at her plans, Mrs. Hurstwood encountered Jessica in herdressing-room, very leisurely arranging her hair. Hurstwood had alreadyleft the house.

"I wish you wouldn't be so late coming down to breakfast," she said,addressing Jessica, while making for her crochet basket. "Now here thethings are quite cold, and you haven't eaten."

Her natural composure was sadly ruffled, and Jessica was doomed to feelthe fag end of the storm.

"I'm not hungry," she answered.

"Then why don't you say so, and let the girl put away the things,instead of keeping her waiting all morning?"

"She doesn't mind," answered Jessica, coolly.

"Well, I do, if she doesn't," returned the mother, "and, anyhow, I don'tlike you to talk that way to me. You're too young to put on such an airwith your mother."

"Oh, mamma, don't row," answered Jessica. "What's the matter thismorning, anyway?"

"Nothing's the matter, and I'm not rowing. You mustn't think because Iindulge you in some things that you can keep everybody waiting. I won'thave it."

"I'm not keeping anybody waiting," returned Jessica, sharply, stirredout of a cynical indifference to a sharp defence. "I said I wasn'thungry. I don't want any breakfast."

"Mind how you address me, missy. I'll not have it. Hear me now; I'll nothave it!"

Jessica heard this last while walking out of the room, with a toss ofher head and a flick of her pretty skirts indicative of the independenceand indifference she felt. She did not propose to be quarrelled with.

Such little arguments were all too frequent, the result of a growth ofnatures which were largely independent and selfish. George, Jr.,manifested even greater touchiness and exaggeration in the matter of hisindividual rights, and attempted to make all feel that he was a man witha man's privileges--an assumption which, of all things, is mostgroundless and pointless in a youth of nineteen.

Hurstwood was a man of authority and some fine feeling, and it irritatedhim excessively to find himself surrounded more and more by a world uponwhich he had no hold, and of which he had a lessening understanding.

Now, when such little things, such as the proposed earlier start toWaukesha, came up, they made clear to him his position. He was beingmade to follow, was not leading. When, in addition, a sharp temper wasmanifested, and to the process of shouldering him out of his authoritywas added a rousing intellectual kick, such as a sneer or a cynicallaugh, he was unable to keep his temper. He flew into hardly repressedpassion, and wished himself clear of the whole household. It seemed amost irritating drag upon all his desires and opportunities.

For all this, he still retained the semblance of leadership and control,even though his wife was straining to revolt. Her display of temper andopen assertion of opposition were based upon nothing more than thefeeling that she could do it. She had no special evidence wherewith tojustify herself--the knowledge of something which would give her bothauthority and excuse. The latter was all that was lacking, however, togive a solid foundation to what, in a way, seemed groundless discontent.The clear proof of one overt deed was the cold breath needed to convertthe lowering clouds of suspicion into a rain of wrath.

An inkling of untoward deeds on the part of Hurstwood had come. DoctorBeale, the handsome resident physician of the neighbourhood, met Mrs.Hurstwood at her own doorstep some days after Hurstwood and Carrie hadtaken the drive west on Washington Boulevard. Dr. Beale, coming east onthe same drive, had recognised Hurstwood, but not before he was quitepast him. He was not so sure of Carrie--did not know whether it wasHurstwood's wife or daughter.

"You don't speak to your friends when you meet them out driving, doyou?" he said, jocosely, to Mrs. Hurstwood.

"If I see them, I do. Where was I?"

"On Washington Boulevard," he answered, expecting her eye to light withimmediate remembrance.

She shook her head.

"Yes, out near Hoyne Avenue. You were with your husband."

"I guess you're mistaken," she answered. Then, remembering her husband'spart in the affair, she immediately fell a prey to a host of youngsuspicions, of which, however, she gave no sign.

"I know I saw your husband," he went on. "I wasn't so sure about you.Perhaps it was your daughter."

"Perhaps it was," said Mrs. Hurstwood, knowing full well that such wasnot the case, as Jessica had been her companion for weeks. She hadrecovered herself sufficiently to wish to know more of the details.

"Was it in the afternoon?" she asked, artfully, assuming an air ofacquaintanceship with the matter.

"Yes, about two or three."

"It must have been Jessica," said Mrs. Hurstwood, not wishing to seem toattach any importance to the incident.

The physician had a thought or two of his own, but dismissed the matteras worthy of no further discussion on his part at least.

Mrs. Hurstwood gave this bit of information considerable thought duringthe next few hours, and even days. She took it for granted that thedoctor had really seen her husband, and that he had been riding, mostlikely, with some other woman, after announcing himself as busy to her.As a consequence, she recalled, with rising feeling, how often he hadrefused to go to places with her, to share in little visits, or, indeed,take part in any of the social amenities which furnished the diversionof her existence. He had been seen at the theatre with people whom hecalled Moy's friends; now he was seen driving, and, most likely, wouldhave an excuse for that. Perhaps there were others of whom she did nothear, or why should he be so busy, so indifferent, of late? In the lastsix weeks he had become strangely irritable--strangely satisfied to pickup and go out, whether things were right or wrong in the house. Why?

She recalled, with more subtle emotions, that he did not look at her nowwith any of the old light of satisfaction or approval in his eye.Evidently, along with other things, he was taking her to be getting oldand uninteresting. He saw her wrinkles, perhaps. She was fading, whilehe was still preening himself in his elegance and youth. He was still aninterested factor in the merry-makings of the world, while she--but shedid not pursue the thought. She only found the whole situation bitter,and hated him for it thoroughly.

Nothing came of this incident at the time, for the truth is it did notseem conclusive enough to warrant any discussion. Only the atmosphereof distrust and ill-feeling was strengthened, precipitating every nowand then little sprinklings of irritable conversation, enlivened byflashes of wrath. The matter of the Waukesha outing was merely acontinuation of other things of the same nature.

The day after Carrie's appearance on the Avery stage, Mrs. Hurstwoodvisited the races with Jessica and a youth of her acquaintance, Mr. BartTaylor, the son of the owner of a local house-furnishing establishment.They had driven out early, and, as it chanced, encountered severalfriends of Hurstwood, all Elks, and two of whom had attended theperformance the evening before. A thousand chances the subject of theperformance had never been brought up had Jessica not been so engaged bythe attentions of her young companion, who usurped as much time aspossible. This left Mrs. Hurstwood in the mood to extend the perfunctorygreetings of some who knew her into short conversations, and the shortconversations of friends into long ones. It was from one who meant butto greet her perfunctorily that this interesting intelligence came.

"I see," said this individual, who wore sporting clothes of the mostattractive pattern, and had a field-glass strung over his shoulder,"that you did not get over to our little entertainment last evening."

"No?" said Mrs. Hurstwood, inquiringly, and wondering why he should beusing the tone he did in noting the fact that she had not been tosomething she knew nothing about. It was on her lips to say, "What wasit?" when he added, "I saw your husband."

Her wonder was at once replaced by the more subtle quality of suspicion.

"Yes," she said, cautiously, "was it pleasant? He did not tell me muchabout it."

"Very. Really one of the best private theatricals I ever attended.There was one actress who surprised us all."

"Indeed," said Mrs. Hurstwood.

"It's too bad you couldn't have been there, really. I was sorry to hearyou weren't feeling well."

Feeling well! Mrs. Hurstwood could have echoed the words after himopen-mouthed. As it was, she extricated herself from her mingled impulseto deny and question, and said, almost raspingly:

"Yes, it is too bad."

"Looks like there will be quite a crowd here to-day, doesn't it?" theacquaintance observed, drifting off upon another topic.

The manager's wife would have questioned farther, but she saw noopportunity. She was for the moment wholly at sea, anxious to think forherself, and wondering what new deception was this which caused him togive out that she was ill when she was not. Another case of her companynot wanted, and excuses being made. She resolved to find out more.

"Were you at the performance last evening?" she asked of the next ofHurstwood's friends who greeted her, as she sat in her box.

"Yes. You didn't get around."

"No," she answered, "I was not feeling very well."

"So your husband told me," he answered. "Well, it was really veryenjoyable. Turned out much better than I expected."

"Were there many there?"

"The house was full. It was quite an Elk night. I saw quite a number ofyour friends--Mrs. Harrison, Mrs. Barnes, Mrs. Collins."

"Quite a social gathering."

"Indeed it was. My wife enjoyed it very much."

Mrs. Hurstwood bit her lip.

"So," she thought, "that's the way he does. Tells my friends I am sickand cannot come."

She wondered what could induce him to go alone. There was something backof this. She rummaged her brain for a reason.

By evening, when Hurstwood reached home, she had brooded herself into astate of sullen desire for explanation and revenge. She wanted to knowwhat this peculiar action of his imported. She was certain there wasmore behind it all than what she had heard, and evil curiosity mingledwell with distrust and the remnants of her wrath of the morning. She,impending disaster itself, walked about with gathered shadow at the eyesand the rudimentary muscles of savagery fixing the hard lines of hermouth.

On the other hand, as we may well believe, the manager came home in thesunniest mood. His conversation and agreement with Carrie had raised hisspirits until he was in the frame of mind of one who sings joyously. Hewas proud of himself, proud of his success, proud of Carrie. He couldhave been genial to all the world, and he bore no grudge against hiswife. He meant to be pleasant, to forget her presence, to live in theatmosphere of youth and pleasure which had been restored to him.

So now, the house, to his mind, had a most pleasing and comfortableappearance. In the hall he found an evening paper, laid there by themaid and forgotten by Mrs. Hurstwood. In the dining-room the table wasclean laid with linen and napery and shiny with glasses and decoratedchina. Through an open door he saw into the kitchen, where the fire wascrackling in the stove and the evening meal already well under way. Outin the small back yard was George, Jr., frolicking with a young dog hehad recently purchased, and in the parlour Jessica was playing at thepiano, the sounds of a merry waltz filling every nook and corner of thecomfortable home. Every one, like himself, seemed to have regained hisgood spirits, to be in sympathy with youth and beauty, to be inclined tojoy and merry-making. He felt as if he could say a good word all aroundhimself, and took a most genial glance at the spread table and polishedsideboard before going upstairs to read his paper in the comfortablearm-chair of the sitting-room which looked through the open windows intothe street. When he entered there, however, he found his wife brushingher hair and musing to herself the while.

He came lightly in, thinking to smooth over any feeling that might stillexist by a kindly word and a ready promise, but Mrs. Hurstwood saidnothing. He seated himself in the large chair, stirred lightly in makinghimself comfortable, opened his paper, and began to read. In a fewmoments he was smiling merrily over a very comical account of a baseballgame which had taken place between the Chicago and Detroit teams.

The while he was doing this Mrs. Hurstwood was observing him casuallythrough the medium of the mirror which was before her. She noticed hispleasant and contented manner, his airy grace and smiling humour, and itmerely aggravated her the more. She wondered how he could think to carryhimself so in her presence after the cynicism, indifference, and neglecthe had heretofore manifested and would continue to manifest so long asshe would endure it. She thought how she should like to tell him--whatstress and emphasis she would lend her assertions, how she should driveover this whole affair until satisfaction should be rendered her.Indeed, the shining sword of her wrath was but weakly suspended by athread of thought.

In the meanwhile Hurstwood encountered a humorous item concerning astranger who had arrived in the city and became entangled with abunco-steerer. It amused him immensely, and at last he stirred andchuckled to himself. He wished that he might enlist his wife's attentionand read it to her.

"Ha, ha," he exclaimed softly, as if to himself, "that's funny."

Mrs. Hurstwood kept on arranging her hair, not so much as deigning aglance.

He stirred again and went on to another subject. At last he felt as ifhis good-humour must find some outlet. Julia was probably still out ofhumour over that affair of this morning, but that could easily bestraightened. As a matter of fact, she was in the wrong, but he didn'tcare. She could go to Waukesha right away if she wanted to. The soonerthe better. He would tell her that as soon as he got a chance, and thewhole thing would blow over.

"Did you notice," he said, at last, breaking forth concerning anotheritem which he had found, "that they have entered suit to compel theIllinois Central to get off the lake front, Julia?" he asked.

She could scarcely force herself to answer, but managed to say "No,"sharply.

Hurstwood pricked up his ears. There was a note in her voice whichvibrated keenly.

"It would be a good thing if they did," he went on, half to himself,half to her, though he felt that something was amiss in that quarter. Hewithdrew his attention to his paper very circumspectly, listeningmentally for the little sounds which should show him what was on foot.

As a matter of fact, no man as clever as Hurstwood--as observant andsensitive to atmospheres of many sorts, particularly upon his own planeof thought--would have made the mistake which he did in regard to hiswife, wrought up as she was, had he not been occupied mentally with avery different train of thought. Had not the influence of Carrie'sregard for him, the elation which her promise aroused in him, lastedover, he would not have seen the house in so pleasant a mood. It was notextraordinarily bright and merry this evening. He was merely very muchmistaken, and would have been much more fitted to cope with it had hecome home in his normal state.

After he had studied his paper a few moments longer, he felt that heought to modify matters in some way or other. Evidently his wife was notgoing to patch up peace at a word. So he said:

"Where did George get the dog he has there in the yard?"

"I don't know," she snapped.

He put his paper down on his knees and gazed idly out of the window. Hedid not propose to lose his temper, but merely to be persistent andagreeable, and by a few questions bring around a mild understanding ofsome sort.

"Why do you feel so bad about that affair of this morning?" he said, atlast. "We needn't quarrel about that. You know you can go to Waukesha ifyou want to."

"So you can stay here and trifle around with some one else?" sheexclaimed, turning to him a determined countenance upon which was drawna sharp and wrathful sneer.

He stopped as if slapped in the face. In an instant his persuasive,conciliatory manner fled. He was on the defensive at a wink and puzzledfor a word to reply.

"What do you mean?" he said at last, straightening himself and gazing atthe cold, determined figure before him, who paid no attention, but wenton arranging herself before the mirror.

"You know what I mean," she said, finally, as if there were a world ofinformation which she held in reserve--which she did not need to tell.

"Well, I don't," he said, stubbornly, yet nervous and alert for whatshould come next. The finality of the woman's manner took away hisfeeling of superiority in battle.

She made no answer.

"Hmph!" he murmured, with a movement of his head to one side. It was theweakest thing he had ever done. It was totally unassured.

Mrs. Hurstwood noticed the lack of colour in it. She turned upon him,animal-like, able to strike an effectual second blow.

"I want the Waukesha money to-morrow morning," she said.

He looked at her in amazement. Never before had he seen such a cold,steely determination in her eye--such a cruel look of indifference. Sheseemed a thorough master of her mood--thoroughly confident anddetermined to wrest all control from him. He felt that all his resourcescould not defend him. He must attack.

"What do you mean?" he said, jumping up. "You want! I'd like to knowwhat's got into you to-night."

"Nothing's _got_ into me," she said, flaming. "I want that money. Youcan do your swaggering afterwards."

"Swaggering, eh! What! You'll get nothing from me. What do you mean byyour insinuations, anyhow?"

"Where were you last night?" she answered. The words were hot as theycame. "Who were you driving with on Washington Boulevard? Who were youwith at the theatre when George saw you? Do you think I'm a fool to beduped by you? Do you think I'll sit at home here and take your 'toobusys' and 'can't come,' while you parade around and make out that I'munable to come? I want you to know that lordly airs have come to an endso far as I am concerned. You can't dictate to me nor my children. I'mthrough with you entirely."

"It's a lie," he said, driven to a corner and knowing no other excuse.

"Lie, eh!" she said, fiercely, but with returning reserve; "you may callit a lie if you want to, but I know."

"It's a lie, I tell you," he said, in a low, sharp voice. "You've beensearching around for some cheap accusation for months, and now you thinkyou have it. You think you'll spring something and get the upper hand.Well, I tell you, you can't. As long as I'm in this house I'm master ofit, and you or any one else won't dictate to me--do you hear?"

He crept toward her with a light in his eye that was ominous. Somethingin the woman's cool, cynical, upper-handish manner, as if she werealready master, caused him to feel for the moment as if he couldstrangle her.

She gazed at him--a pythoness in humour.

"I'm not dictating to you," she returned; "I'm telling you what I want."

The answer was so cool, so rich in bravado, that somehow it took thewind out of his sails. He could not attack her, he could not ask her forproofs. Somehow he felt evidence, law, the remembrance of all hisproperty which she held in her name, to be shining in her glance. He waslike a vessel, powerful and dangerous, but rolling and flounderingwithout sail.

"And I'm telling you," he said in the end, slightly recovering himself,"what you'll not get."

"We'll see about it," she said. "I'll find out what my rights are.Perhaps you'll talk to a lawyer, if you won't to me."

It was a magnificent play, and had its effect. Hurstwood fell backbeaten. He knew now that he had more than mere bluff to contend with. Hefelt that he was face to face with a dull proposition. What to say hehardly knew. All the merriment had gone out of the day. He wasdisturbed, wretched, resentful. What should he do?

"Do as you please," he said, at last. "I'll have nothing more to do withyou," and out he strode.