When Hurstwood got back to his office again he was in a greater quandarythan ever. Lord, Lord, he thought, what had he got into? How couldthings have taken such a violent turn, and so quickly? He could hardlyrealise how it had all come about. It seemed a monstrous, unnatural,unwarranted condition which had suddenly descended upon him without hislet or hindrance.

Meanwhile he gave a thought now and then to Carrie. What could be thetrouble in that quarter? No letter had come, no word of any kind, andyet here it was late in the evening and she had agreed to meet him thatmorning. To-morrow they were to have met and gone off--where? He sawthat in the excitement of recent events he had not formulated a planupon that score. He was desperately in love, and would have taken greatchances to win her under ordinary circumstances, but now--now what?Supposing she had found out something? Supposing she, too, wrote him andtold him that she knew all--that she would have nothing more to do withhim? It would be just like this to happen as things were going now.Meanwhile he had not sent the money.

He strolled up and down the polished floor of the resort, his hands inhis pockets, his brow wrinkled, his mouth set. He was getting some vaguecomfort out of a good cigar, but it was no panacea for the ill whichaffected him. Every once in a while he would clinch his fingers and taphis foot--signs of the stirring mental process he was undergoing. Hiswhole nature was vigorously and powerfully shaken up, and he was findingwhat limits the mind has to endurance. He drank more brandy and sodathan he had any evening in months. He was altogether a fine example ofgreat mental perturbation.

For all his study nothing came of the evening except this--he sent themoney. It was with great opposition, after two or three hours of themost urgent mental affirmation and denial, that at last he got anenvelope, placed in it the requested amount, and slowly sealed it up.

Then he called Harry, the boy of all work around the place.

"You take this to this address," he said, handing him the envelope, "andgive it to Mrs. Hurstwood."

"Yes, sir," said the boy.

"If she isn't there bring it back."

"Yes, sir."

"You've seen my wife?" he asked as a precautionary measure as the boyturned to go.

"Oh, yes, sir. I know her."

"All right, now. Hurry right back."

"Any answer?"

"I guess not."

The boy hastened away and the manager fell to his musings. Now he haddone it. There was no use speculating over that. He was beaten forto-night and he might just as well make the best of it. But, oh, thewretchedness of being forced this way! He could see her meeting the boyat the door and smiling sardonically. She would take the envelope andknow that she had triumphed. If he only had that letter back he wouldn'tsend it. He breathed heavily and wiped the moisture from his face.

For relief, he arose and joined in conversation with a few friends whowere drinking. He tried to get the interest of things about him, but itwas not to be. All the time his thoughts would run out to his home andsee the scene being therein enacted. All the time he was wondering whatshe would say when the boy handed her the envelope.

In about an hour and three-quarters the boy returned. He had evidentlydelivered the package, for, as he came up, he made no sign of takinganything out of his pocket.

"Well?" said Hurstwood.

"I gave it to her."

"My wife?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any answer?"

"She said it was high time."

Hurstwood scowled fiercely.

There was no more to be done upon that score that night. He went onbrooding over his situation until midnight, when he repaired again tothe Palmer House. He wondered what the morning would bring forth, andslept anything but soundly upon it.

Next day he went again to the office and opened his mail, suspicious andhopeful of its contents. No word from Carrie. Nothing from his wife,which was pleasant.

The fact that he had sent the money and that she had received it workedto the ease of his mind, for, as the thought that he had done itreceded, his chagrin at it grew less and his hope of peace more. Hefancied, as he sat at his desk, that nothing would be done for a week ortwo. Meanwhile, he would have time to think.

This process of _thinking_ began by a reversion to Carrie and thearrangement by which he was to get her away from Drouet. How about thatnow? His pain at her failure to meet or write him rapidly increased ashe devoted himself to this subject. He decided to write her care of theWest Side Post-office and ask for an explanation, as well as to haveher meet him. The thought that this letter would probably not reach heruntil Monday chafed him exceedingly. He must get some speediermethod--but how?

He thought upon it for a half-hour, not contemplating a messenger or acab direct to the house, owing to the exposure of it, but finding thattime was slipping away to no purpose, he wrote the letter and then beganto think again.

The hours slipped by, and with them the possibility of the union he hadcontemplated. He had thought to be joyously aiding Carrie by now in thetask of joining her interests to his, and here it was afternoon andnothing done. Three o'clock came, four, five, six, and no letter. Thehelpless manager paced the floor and grimly endured the gloom of defeat.He saw a busy Saturday ushered out, the Sabbath in, and nothing done.All day, the bar being closed, he brooded alone, shut out from home,from the excitement of his resort, from Carrie, and without the abilityto alter his condition one iota. It was the worst Sunday he had spent inhis life.

In Monday's second mail he encountered a very legal-looking letter,which held his interest for some time. It bore the imprint of the lawoffices of McGregor, James and Hay, and with a very formal "Dear Sir,"and "We beg to state," went on to inform him briefly that they had beenretained by Mrs. Julia Hurstwood to adjust certain matters which relatedto her sustenance and property rights, and would he kindly call and seethem about the matter at once.

He read it through carefully several times, and then merely shook hishead. It seemed as if his family troubles were just beginning.

"Well!" he said after a time, quite audibly, "I don't know."

Then he folded it up and put it in his pocket.

To add to his misery there was no word from Carrie. He was quite certainnow that she knew he was married and was angered at his perfidy. Hisloss seemed all the more bitter now that he needed her most. He thoughthe would go out and insist on seeing her if she did not send him word ofsome sort soon. He was really affected most miserably of all by thisdesertion. He had loved her earnestly enough, but now that thepossibility of losing her stared him in the face she seemed much moreattractive. He really pined for a word, and looked out upon her with hismind's eye in the most wistful manner. He did not propose to lose her,whatever she might think. Come what might, he would adjust this matter,and soon. He would go to her and tell her all his family complications.He would explain to her just where he stood and how much he needed her.Surely she couldn't go back on him now? It wasn't possible. He wouldplead until her anger would melt--until she would forgive him.

Suddenly he thought: "Supposing she isn't out there--suppose she hasgone?"

He was forced to take his feet. It was too much to think of and sitstill.

Nevertheless, his rousing availed him nothing.

On Tuesday it was the same way. He did manage to bring himself into themood to go out to Carrie, but when he got in Ogden Place he thought hesaw a man watching him and went away. He did not go within a block ofthe house.

One of the galling incidents of this visit was that he came back on aRandolph Street car, and without noticing arrived almost opposite thebuilding of the concern with which his son was connected. This sent apang through his heart. He had called on his boy there several times.Now the lad had not sent him a word. His absence did not seem to benoticed by either of his children. Well, well, fortune plays a man queertricks. He got back to his office and joined in a conversation withfriends. It was as if idle chatter deadened the sense of misery.

That night he dined at Rector's and returned at once to his office. Inthe bustle and show of the latter was his only relief. He troubled overmany little details and talked perfunctorily to everybody. He stayed athis desk long after all others had gone, and only quitted it when thenight watchman on his round pulled at the front door to see if it wassafely locked.

On Wednesday he received another polite note from McGregor, James andHay. It read:

"_Dear Sir_: We beg to inform you that we are instructed to wait until to-morrow (Thursday) at one o'clock, before filing suit against you, on behalf of Mrs. Julia Hurstwood, for divorce and alimony. If we do not hear from you before that time we shall consider that you do not wish to compromise the matter in any way and act accordingly.

"Very truly yours, etc."

"Compromise!" exclaimed Hurstwood bitterly. "Compromise!"

Again he shook his head.

So here it was spread out clear before him, and now he knew what toexpect. If he didn't go and see them they would sue him promptly. If hedid, he would be offered terms that would make his blood boil. He foldedthe letter and put it with the other one. Then he put on his hat andwent for a turn about the block.