Carrie, left alone by Drouet, listened to his retreating steps, scarcelyrealising what had happened. She knew that he had stormed out. It wassome moments before she questioned whether he would return, not nowexactly, but ever. She looked around her upon the rooms, out of whichthe evening light was dying, and wondered why she did not feel quite thesame towards them. She went over to the dresser and struck a match,lighting the gas. Then she went back to the rocker to think.

It was some time before she could collect her thoughts, but when shedid, this truth began to take on importance. She was quite alone.Suppose Drouet did not come back? Suppose she should never hear anythingmore of him? This fine arrangement of chambers would not last long. Shewould have to quit them.

To her credit, be it said, she never once counted on Hurstwood. Shecould only approach that subject with a pang of sorrow and regret. For atruth, she was rather shocked and frightened by this evidence of humandepravity. He would have tricked her without turning an eyelash. Shewould have been led into a newer and worse situation. And yet she couldnot keep out the pictures of his looks and manners. Only this one deedseemed strange and miserable. It contrasted sharply with all she feltand knew concerning the man.

But she was alone. That was the greater thought just at present. Howabout that? Would she go out to work again? Would she begin to lookaround in the business district? The stage! Oh, yes. Drouet had spokenabout that. Was there any hope there? She moved to and fro, in deep andvaried thoughts, while the minutes slipped away and night fellcompletely. She had had nothing to eat, and yet there she sat, thinkingit over.

She remembered that she was hungry and went to the little cupboard inthe rear room where were the remains of one of their breakfasts. Shelooked at these things with certain misgivings. The contemplation offood had more significance than usual.

While she was eating she began to wonder how much money she had. Itstruck her as exceedingly important, and without ado she went to lookfor her purse. It was on the dresser, and in it were seven dollars inbills and some change. She quailed as she thought of the insignificanceof the amount and rejoiced because the rent was paid until the end ofthe month. She began also to think what she would have done if she hadgone out into the street when she first started. By the side of thatsituation, as she looked at it now, the present seemed agreeable. Shehad a little time at least, and then, perhaps, everything would come outall right, after all.

Drouet had gone, but what of it? He did not seem seriously angry. Heonly acted as if he were huffy. He would come back--of course he would.There was his cane in the corner. Here was one of his collars. He hadleft his light overcoat in the wardrobe. She looked about and tried toassure herself with the sight of a dozen such details, but, alas, thesecondary thought arrived. Supposing he did come back. Then what?

Here was another proposition nearly, if not quite, as disturbing. Shewould have to talk with and explain to him. He would want her to admitthat he was right. It would be impossible for her to live with him.

On Friday Carrie remembered her appointment with Hurstwood, and thepassing of the hour when she should, by all right of promise, have beenin his company served to keep the calamity which had befallen herexceedingly fresh and clear. In her nervousness and stress of mind shefelt it necessary to act, and consequently put on a brown street dress,and at eleven o'clock started to visit the business portion once again.She must look for work.

The rain, which threatened at twelve and began at one, served equallywell to cause her to retrace her steps and remain within doors as it didto reduce Hurstwood's spirits and give him a wretched day.

The morrow was Saturday, a half-holiday in many business quarters, andbesides it was a balmy, radiant day, with the trees and grass shiningexceedingly green after the rain of the night before. When she went outthe sparrows were twittering merrily in joyous choruses. She could nothelp feeling, as she looked across the lovely park, that life was ajoyous thing for those who did not need to worry, and she wished overand over that something might interfere now to preserve for her thecomfortable state which she had occupied. She did not want Drouet or hismoney when she thought of it, nor anything more to do with Hurstwood,but only the content and ease of mind she had experienced, for, afterall, she had been happy--happier, at least, than she was now whenconfronted by the necessity of making her way alone.

When she arrived in the business part it was quite eleven o'clock, andthe business had little longer to run. She did not realise this atfirst, being affected by some of the old distress which was a result ofher earlier adventure into this strenuous and exacting quarter. Shewandered about, assuring herself that she was making up her mind to lookfor something, and at the same time feeling that perhaps it was notnecessary to be in such haste about it. The thing was difficult toencounter, and she had a few days. Besides, she was not sure that shewas really face to face again with the bitter problem ofself-sustenance. Anyhow, there was one change for the better. She knewthat she had improved in appearance. Her manner had vastly changed. Herclothes were becoming, and men--well-dressed men, some of the kind whobefore had gazed at her indifferently from behind their polishedrailings and imposing office partitions--now gazed into her face with asoft light in their eyes. In a way, she felt the power and satisfactionof the thing, but it did not wholly reassure her. She looked for nothingsave what might come legitimately and without the appearance of specialfavour. She wanted something, but no man should buy her by falseprotestations or favour. She proposed to earn her living honestly.

"This store closes at one on Saturdays," was a pleasing and satisfactorylegend to see upon doors which she felt she ought to enter and inquirefor work. It gave her an excuse, and after encountering quite a numberof them, and noting that the clock registered 12.15, she decided that itwould be no use to seek further to-day, so she got on a car and went toLincoln Park. There was always something to see there--the flowers, theanimals, the lake--and she flattered herself that on Monday she would beup betimes and searching. Besides, many things might happen between nowand Monday.

Sunday passed with equal doubts, worries, assurances, and heaven knowswhat vagaries of mind and spirit. Every half-hour in the day the thoughtwould come to her most sharply, like the tail of a swishing whip, thataction--immediate action--was imperative. At other times she would lookabout her and assure herself that things were not so bad--that certainlyshe would come out safe and sound. At such times she would think ofDrouet's advice about going on the stage, and saw some chance forherself in that quarter. She decided to take up that opportunity on themorrow.

Accordingly, she arose early Monday morning and dressed herselfcarefully. She did not know just how such applications were made, butshe took it to be a matter which related more directly to the theatrebuildings. All you had to do was to inquire of some one about thetheatre for the manager and ask for a position. If there was anything,you might get it, or, at least, he could tell you how.

She had had no experience with this class of individuals whatsoever, anddid not know the salacity and humour of the theatrical tribe. She onlyknew of the position which Mr. Hale occupied, but, of all things, shedid not wish to encounter that personage, on account of her intimacywith his wife.

There was, however, at this time, one theatre, the Chicago Opera House,which was considerably in the public eye, and its manager, David A.Henderson, had a fair local reputation. Carrie had seen one or twoelaborate performances there and had heard of several others. She knewnothing of Henderson nor of the methods of applying, but sheinstinctively felt that this would be a likely place, and accordinglystrolled about in that neighbourhood. She came bravely enough to theshowy entrance way, with the polished and begilded lobby, set withframed pictures out of the current attraction, leading up to the quietbox-office, but she could get no further. A noted comic opera comedianwas holding forth that week, and the air of distinction and prosperityoverawed her. She could not imagine that there would be anything in sucha lofty sphere for her. She almost trembled at the audacity which mighthave carried her on to a terrible rebuff. She could find heart only tolook at the pictures which were showy and then walk out. It seemed toher as if she had made a splendid escape and that it would be foolhardyto think of applying in that quarter again.

This little experience settled her hunting for one day. She lookedaround elsewhere, but it was from the outside. She got the location ofseveral playhouses fixed in her mind--notably the Grand Opera House andMcVickar's, both of which were leading in attractions--and then cameaway. Her spirits were materially reduced, owing to the newly restoredsense of magnitude of the great interests and the insignificance of herclaims upon society, such as she understood them to be.

That night she was visited by Mrs. Hale, whose chatter and protractedstay made it impossible to dwell upon her predicament or the fortune ofthe day. Before retiring, however, she sat down to think, and gaveherself up to the most gloomy forebodings. Drouet had not put in anappearance. She had had no word from any quarter, she had spent a dollarof her precious sum in procuring food and paying car fare. It wasevident that she would not endure long. Besides, she had discovered noresource.

In this situation her thoughts went out to her sister in Van BurenStreet, whom she had not seen since the night of her flight, and to herhome at Columbia City, which seemed now a part of something that couldnot be again. She looked for no refuge in that direction. Nothing butsorrow was brought her by thoughts of Hurstwood, which would return.That he could have chosen to dupe her in so ready a manner seemed acruel thing.

Tuesday came, and with it appropriate indecision and speculation. Shewas in no mood, after her failure of the day before, to hasten forthupon her work-seeking errand, and yet she rebuked herself for what sheconsidered her weakness the day before. Accordingly she started out torevisit the Chicago Opera House, but possessed scarcely enough courageto approach.

She did manage to inquire at the box-office, however.

"Manager of the company or the house?" asked the smartly dressedindividual who took care of the tickets. He was favourably impressed byCarrie's looks.

"I don't know," said Carrie, taken back by the question.

"You couldn't see the manager of the house to-day, anyhow," volunteeredthe young man. "He's out of town."

He noted her puzzled look, and then added: "What is it you wish to seeabout?"

"I want to see about getting a position," she answered.

"You'd better see the manager of the company," he returned, "but heisn't here now."

"When will he be in?" asked Carrie, somewhat relieved by thisinformation.

"Well, you might find him in between eleven and twelve. He's here aftertwo o'clock."

Carrie thanked him and walked briskly out, while the young man gazedafter her through one of the side windows of his gilded coop.

"Good-looking," he said to himself, and proceeded to visions ofcondescensions on her part which were exceedingly flattering to himself.

One of the principal comedy companies of the day was playing anengagement at the Grand Opera House. Here Carrie asked to see themanager of the company. She little knew the trivial authority of thisindividual, or that had there been a vacancy an actor would have beensent on from New York to fill it.

"His office is upstairs," said a man in the box-office.

Several persons were in the manager's office, two lounging near awindow, another talking to an individual sitting at a roll-top desk--themanager. Carrie glanced nervously about, and began to fear that sheshould have to make her appeal before the assembled company, two ofwhom--the occupants of the window--were already observing her carefully.

"I can't do it," the manager was saying; "it's a rule of Mr. Frohman'snever to allow visitors back of the stage. No, no!"

Carrie timidly waited, standing. There were chairs, but no one motionedher to be seated. The individual to whom the manager had been talkingwent away quite crestfallen. That luminary gazed earnestly at somepapers before him, as if they were of the greatest concern.

"Did you see that in the 'Herald' this morning about Nat Goodwin,Harris?"

"No," said the person addressed. "What was it?"

"Made quite a curtain address at Hooley's last night. Better look itup."

Harris reached over to a table and began to look for the "Herald."

"What is it?" said the manager to Carrie, apparently noticing her forthe first time. He thought he was going to be held up for free tickets.

Carrie summoned up all her courage, which was little at best. Sherealised that she was a novice, and felt as if a rebuff were certain. Ofthis she was so sure that she only wished now to pretend she had calledfor advice.

"Can you tell me how to go about getting on the stage?"

It was the best way after all to have gone about the matter. She wasinteresting, in a manner, to the occupant of the chair, and thesimplicity of her request and attitude took his fancy. He smiled, as didthe others in the room, who, however, made some slight effort to concealtheir humour.

"I don't know," he answered, looking her brazenly over. "Have you everhad any experience upon the stage?"

"A little," answered Carrie. "I have taken part in amateurperformances."

She thought she had to make some sort of showing in order to retain hisinterest.

"Never studied for the stage?" he said, putting on an air intended asmuch to impress his friends with his discretion as Carrie.

"No, sir."

"Well, I don't know," he answered, tipping lazily back in his chairwhile she stood before him. "What makes you want to get on the stage?"

She felt abashed at the man's daring, but could only smile in answer tohis engaging smirk, and say:

"I need to make a living."

"Oh," he answered, rather taken by her trim appearance, and feeling asif he might scrape up an acquaintance with her. "That's a good reason,isn't it? Well, Chicago is not a good place for what you want to do. Youought to be in New York. There's more chance there. You could hardlyexpect to get started out here."

Carrie smiled genially, grateful that he should condescend to advise hereven so much. He noticed the smile, and put a slightly differentconstruction on it. He thought he saw an easy chance for a littleflirtation.

"Sit down," he said, pulling a chair forward from the side of his deskand dropping his voice so that the two men in the room should not hear.Those two gave each other the suggestion of a wink.

"Well, I'll be going, Barney," said one, breaking away and so addressingthe manager. "See you this afternoon."

"All right," said the manager.

The remaining individual took up a paper as if to read.

"Did you have any idea what sort of part you would like to get?" askedthe manager softly.

"Oh, no," said Carrie. "I would take anything to begin with."

"I see," he said. "Do you live here in the city?"

"Yes, sir."

The manager smiled most blandly.

"Have you ever tried to get in as a chorus girl?" he asked, assuming amore confidential air.

Carrie began to feel that there was something exuberant and unnatural inhis manner.

"No," she said.

"That's the way most girls begin," he went on, "who go on the stage.It's a good way to get experience."

He was turning on her a glance of the companionable and persuasivemanner.

"I didn't know that," said Carrie.

"It's a difficult thing," he went on, "but there's always a chance, youknow." Then, as if he suddenly remembered, he pulled out his watch andconsulted it. "I've an appointment at two," he said, "and I've got to goto lunch now. Would you care to come and dine with me? We can talk itover there."

"Oh, no," said Carrie, the whole motive of the man flashing on her atonce. "I have an engagement myself."

"That's too bad," he said, realising that he had been a littlebeforehand in his offer and that Carrie was about to go away. "Come inlater. I may know of something."

"Thank you," she answered, with some trepidation, and went out.

"She was good-looking, wasn't she?" said the manager's companion, whohad not caught all the details of the game he had played.

"Yes, in a way," said the other, sore to think the game had been lost."She'd never make an actress, though. Just another chorus girl--that'sall."

This little experience nearly destroyed her ambition to call upon themanager at the Chicago Opera House, but she decided to do so after atime. He was of a more sedate turn of mind. He said at once that therewas no opening of any sort, and seemed to consider her search foolish.

"Chicago is no place to get a start," he said. "You ought to be in NewYork."

Still she persisted, and went to McVickar's, where she could not findany one. "The Old Homestead" was running there, but the person to whomshe was referred was not to be found.

These little expeditions took up her time until quite four o'clock, whenshe was weary enough to go home. She felt as if she ought to continueand inquire elsewhere, but the results so far were too dispiriting. Shetook the car and arrived at Ogden Place in three-quarters of an hour,but decided to ride on to the West Side branch of the Post-office, whereshe was accustomed to receive Hurstwood's letters. There was one therenow, written Saturday, which she tore open and read with mingledfeelings. There was so much warmth in it and such tense complaint at herhaving failed to meet him, and her subsequent silence, that she ratherpitied the man. That he loved her was evident enough. That he had wishedand dared to do so, married as he was, was the evil. She felt as if thething deserved an answer, and consequently decided that she would writeand let him know that she knew of his married state and was justlyincensed at his deception. She would tell him that it was all overbetween them.

At her room, the wording of this missive occupied her for some time, forshe fell to the task at once. It was most difficult.

"You do not need to have me explain why I did not meet you," she wrote in part. "How could you deceive me so? You cannot expect me to have anything more to do with you. I wouldn't under any circumstances. Oh, how could you act so?" she added in a burst of feeling. "You have caused me more misery than you can think. I hope you will get over your infatuation for me. We must not meet any more. Good-bye."

She took the letter the next morning, and at the corner dropped itreluctantly into the letter-box, still uncertain as to whether sheshould do so or not. Then she took the car and went down town.

This was the dull season with the department stores, but she waslistened to with more consideration than was usually accorded to youngwomen applicants, owing to her neat and attractive appearance. She wasasked the same old questions with which she was already familiar.

"What can you do? Have you ever worked in a retail store before? Are youexperienced?"

At The Fair, See and Company's, and all the great stores it was much thesame. It was the dull season, she might come in a little later, possiblythey would like to have her.

When she arrived at the house at the end of the day, weary anddisheartened, she discovered that Drouet had been there. His umbrellaand light overcoat were gone. She thought she missed other things, butcould not be sure. Everything had not been taken.

So his going was crystallising into staying. What was she to do now?Evidently she would be facing the world in the same old way within a dayor two. Her clothes would get poor. She put her two hands together inher customary expressive way and pressed her fingers. Large tearsgathered in her eyes and broke hot across her cheeks. She was alone,very much alone.

Drouet really had called, but it was with a very different mind fromthat which Carrie had imagined. He expected to find her, to justify hisreturn by claiming that he came to get the remaining portion of hiswardrobe, and before he got away again to patch up a peace.

Accordingly, when he arrived, he was disappointed to find Carrie out. Hetrifled about, hoping that she was somewhere in the neighbourhood andwould soon return. He constantly listened, expecting to hear her foot onthe stair.

When he did so, it was his intention to make believe that he had justcome in and was disturbed at being caught. Then he would explain hisneed of his clothes and find out how things stood.

Wait as he did, however, Carrie did not come. From pottering aroundamong the drawers, in momentary expectation of her arrival, he changedto looking out of the window, and from that to resting himself in therocking-chair. Still no Carrie. He began to grow restless and lit acigar. After that he walked the floor. Then he looked out of the windowand saw clouds gathering. He remembered an appointment at three. Hebegan to think that it would be useless to wait, and got hold of hisumbrella and light coat, intending to take these things, any way. Itwould scare her, he hoped. To-morrow he would come back for the others.He would find out how things stood.

As he started to go he felt truly sorry that he had missed her. Therewas a little picture of her on the wall, showing her arrayed in thelittle jacket he had first bought her--her face a little more wistfulthan he had seen it lately. He was really touched by it, and looked intothe eyes of it with a rather rare feeling for him.

"You didn't do me right, Cad," he said, as if he were addressing her inthe flesh.

Then he went to the door, took a good look around, and went out.