Such feelings as were generated in Carrie by this walk put her in anexceedingly receptive mood for the pathos which followed in the play.The actor whom they had gone to see had achieved his popularity bypresenting a mellow type of comedy, in which sufficient sorrow wasintroduced to lend contrast and relief to humour. For Carrie, as we wellknow, the stage had a great attraction. She had never forgotten her onehistrionic achievement in Chicago. It dwelt in her mind and occupied herconsciousness during many long afternoons in which her rocking-chair andher latest novel contributed the only pleasures of her state. Nevercould she witness a play without having her own ability vividly broughtto consciousness. Some scenes made her long to be a part of them--togive expression to the feelings which she, in the place of the characterrepresented, would feel. Almost invariably she would carry the vividimaginations away with her and brood over them the next day alone. Shelived as much in these things as in the realities which made up herdaily life.

It was not often that she came to the play stirred to her heart's coreby actualities. To-day a low song of longing had been set singing in herheart by the finery, the merriment, the beauty she had seen. Oh, thesewomen who had passed her by, hundreds and hundreds strong, who werethey? Whence came the rich, elegant dresses, the astonishingly colouredbuttons, the knick-knacks of silver and gold? Where were these lovelycreatures housed? Amid what elegancies of carved furniture, decoratedwalls, elaborate tapestries did they move? Where were their richapartments, loaded with all that money could provide? In what stableschamped these sleek, nervous horses and rested the gorgeous carriages?Where lounged the richly groomed footmen? Oh, the mansions, the lights,the perfume, the loaded boudoirs and tables! New York must be filledwith such bowers, or the beautiful, insolent, supercilious creaturescould not be. Some hot-houses held them. It ached her to know that shewas not one of them--that, alas, she had dreamed a dream and it had notcome true. She wondered at her own solitude these two years past--herindifference to the fact that she had never achieved what she hadexpected.

The play was one of those drawing-room concoctions in which charminglyoverdressed ladies and gentlemen suffer the pangs of love and jealousyamid gilded surroundings. Such bon-mots are ever enticing to those whohave all their days longed for such material surroundings and have neverhad them gratified. They have the charm of showing suffering under idealconditions. Who would not grieve upon a gilded chair? Who would notsuffer amid perfumed tapestries, cushioned furniture, and liveriedservants? Grief under such circumstances becomes an enticing thing.Carrie longed to be of it. She wanted to take her sufferings, whateverthey were, in such a world, or failing that, at least to simulate themunder such charming conditions upon the stage. So affected was her mindby what she had seen, that the play now seemed an extraordinarilybeautiful thing. She was soon lost in the world it represented, andwished that she might never return. Between the acts she studied thegalaxy of matinée attendants in front rows and boxes, and conceived anew idea of the possibilities of New York. She was sure she had not seenit all--that the city was one whirl of pleasure and delight.

Going out, the same Broadway taught her a sharper lesson. The scene shehad witnessed coming down was now augmented and at its height. Such acrush of finery and folly she had never seen. It clinched herconvictions concerning her state. She had not lived, could not lay claimto having lived, until something of this had come into her own life.Women were spending money like water; she could see that in everyelegant shop she passed. Flowers, candy, jewelry, seemed the principalthings in which the elegant dames were interested. And she--she hadscarcely enough pin money to indulge in such outings as this a few timesa month.

That night the pretty little flat seemed a commonplace thing. It was notwhat the rest of the world was enjoying. She saw the servant working atdinner with an indifferent eye. In her mind were running scenes of theplay. Particularly she remembered one beautiful actress--the sweetheartwho had been wooed and won. The grace of this woman had won Carrie'sheart. Her dresses had been all that art could suggest, her sufferingshad been so real. The anguish which she had portrayed Carrie could feel.It was done as she was sure she could do it. There were places in whichshe could even do better. Hence she repeated the lines to herself. Oh,if she could only have such a part, how broad would be her life! She,too, could act appealingly.

When Hurstwood came, Carrie was moody. She was sitting, rocking andthinking, and did not care to have her enticing imaginations broken inupon; so she said little or nothing.

"What's the matter, Carrie?" said Hurstwood after a time, noticing herquiet, almost moody state.

"Nothing," said Carrie. "I don't feel very well to-night."

"Not sick, are you?" he asked, approaching very close.

"Oh, no," she said, almost pettishly, "I just don't feel very good."

"That's too bad," he said, stepping away and adjusting his vest afterhis slight bending over. "I was thinking we might go to a showto-night."

"I don't want to go," said Carrie, annoyed that her fine visions shouldhave thus been broken into and driven out of her mind. "I've been to thematinée this afternoon."

"Oh, you have?" said Hurstwood. "What was it?"

"A Gold Mine."

"How was it?"

"Pretty good," said Carrie.

"And you don't want to go again to-night?"

"I don't think I do," she said.

Nevertheless, wakened out of her melancholia and called to the dinnertable, she changed her mind. A little food in the stomach does wonders.She went again, and in so doing temporarily recovered her equanimity.The great awakening blow had, however, been delivered. As often as shemight recover from these discontented thoughts now, they would occuragain. Time and repetition--ah, the wonder of it! The dropping water andthe solid stone--how utterly it yields at last!

Not long after this matinée experience--perhaps a month--Mrs. Vanceinvited Carrie to an evening at the theatre with them. She heard Carriesay that Hurstwood was not coming home to dinner.

"Why don't you come with us? Don't get dinner for yourself. We're goingdown to Sherry's for dinner and then over to the Lyceum. Come along withus."

"I think I will," answered Carrie.

She began to dress at three o'clock for her departure at half-past fivefor the noted dining-room which was then crowding Delmonico's forposition in society. In this dressing Carrie showed the influence of herassociation with the dashing Mrs. Vance. She had constantly had herattention called by the latter to novelties in everything which pertainsto a woman's apparel.

"Are you going to get such and such a hat?" or, "Have you seen the newgloves with the oval pearl buttons?" were but sample phrases out of alarge selection.

"The next time you get a pair of shoes, dearie," said Mrs. Vance, "getbutton, with thick soles and patent-leather tips. They're all the ragethis fall."

"I will," said Carrie.

"Oh, dear, have you seen the new shirtwaists at Altman's? They have someof the loveliest patterns. I saw one there that I know would lookstunning on you. I said so when I saw it."

Carrie listened to these things with considerable interest, for theywere suggested with more of friendliness than is usually common betweenpretty women. Mrs. Vance liked Carrie's stable good-nature so well thatshe really took pleasure in suggesting to her the latest things.

"Why don't you get yourself one of those nice serge skirts they'reselling at Lord & Taylor's?" she said one day. "They're the circularstyle, and they're going to be worn from now on. A dark blue one wouldlook so nice on you."

Carrie listened with eager ears. These things never came up between herand Hurstwood. Nevertheless, she began to suggest one thing and another,which Hurstwood agreed to without any expression of opinion. He noticedthe new tendency on Carrie's part, and finally, hearing much of Mrs.Vance and her delightful ways, suspected whence the change came. He wasnot inclined to offer the slightest objection so soon, but he felt thatCarrie's wants were expanding. This did not appeal to him exactly, buthe cared for her in his own way, and so the thing stood. Still, therewas something in the details of the transactions which caused Carrie tofeel that her requests were not a delight to him. He did not enthuseover the purchases. This led her to believe that neglect was creepingin, and so another small wedge was entered.

Nevertheless, one of the results of Mrs. Vance's suggestions was thefact that on this occasion Carrie was dressed somewhat to her ownsatisfaction. She had on her best, but there was comfort in the thoughtthat if she must confine herself to a _best_, it was neat and fitting.She looked the well-groomed woman of twenty-one, and Mrs. Vance praisedher, which brought colour to her plump cheeks and a noticeablebrightness into her large eyes. It was threatening rain, and Mr. Vance,at his wife's request, had called a coach.

"Your husband isn't coming?" suggested Mr. Vance, as he met Carrie inhis little parlour.

"No; he said he wouldn't be home for dinner."

"Better leave a little note for him, telling him where we are. He mightturn up."

"I will," said Carrie, who had not thought of it before.

"Tell him we'll be at Sherry's until eight o'clock. He knows, though, Iguess."

Carrie crossed the hall with rustling skirts, and scrawled the note,gloves on. When she returned a newcomer was in the Vance flat.

"Mrs. Wheeler, let me introduce Mr. Ames, a cousin of mine," said Mrs.Vance. "He's going along with us, aren't you, Bob?"

"I'm very glad to meet you," said Ames, bowing politely to Carrie.

The latter caught in a glance the dimensions of a very stalwart figure.She also noticed that he was smooth-shaven, good looking, and young, butnothing more.

"Mr. Ames is just down in New York for a few days," put in Vance, "andwe're trying to show him around a little."

"Oh, are you?" said Carrie, taking another glance at the newcomer.

"Yes; I am just on here from Indianapolis for a week or so," said youngAmes, seating himself on the edge of a chair to wait while Mrs. Vancecompleted the last touches of her toilet.

"I guess you find New York quite a thing to see, don't you?" saidCarrie, venturing something to avoid a possible deadly silence.

"It is rather large to get around in a week," answered Ames, pleasantly.

He was an exceedingly genial soul, this young man, and wholly free ofaffectation. It seemed to Carrie he was as yet only overcoming the lasttraces of the bashfulness of youth. He did not seem apt at conversation,but he had the merit of being well dressed and wholly courageous. Carriefelt as if it were not going to be hard to talk to him.

"Well, I guess we're ready now. The coach is outside."

"Come on, people," said Mrs. Vance, coming in smiling. "Bob, you'll haveto look after Mrs. Wheeler."

"I'll try to," said Bob smiling, and edging closer to Carrie. "You won'tneed much watching, will you?" he volunteered, in a sort of ingratiatingand help-me-out kind of way.

"Not very, I hope," said Carrie.

They descended the stairs, Mrs. Vance offering suggestions, and climbedinto the open coach.

"All right," said Vance, slamming the coach door, and the conveyancerolled away.

"What is it we're going to see?" asked Ames.

"Sothern," said Vance, "in 'Lord Chumley.'"

"Oh, he is so good!" said Mrs. Vance. "He's just the funniest man."

"I notice the papers praise it," said Ames.

"I haven't any doubt," put in Vance, "but we'll all enjoy it very much."

Ames had taken a seat beside Carrie, and accordingly he felt it hisbounden duty to pay her some attention. He was interested to find her soyoung a wife, and so pretty, though it was only a respectful interest.There was nothing of the dashing lady's man about him. He had respectfor the married state, and thought only of some pretty marriageablegirls in Indianapolis.

"Are you a born New Yorker?" asked Ames of Carrie.

"Oh, no; I've only been here for two years."

"Oh, well, you've had time to see a great deal of it, anyhow."

"I don't seem to have," answered Carrie. "It's about as strange to me aswhen I first came here."

"You're not from the West, are you?"

"Yes. I'm from Wisconsin," she answered.

"Well, it does seem as if most people in this town haven't been here sovery long. I hear of lots of Indiana people in my line who are here."

"What is your line?" asked Carrie.

"I'm connected with an electrical company," said the youth.

Carrie followed up this desultory conversation with occasionalinterruptions from the Vances. Several times it became general andpartially humorous, and in that manner the restaurant was reached.

Carrie had noticed the appearance of gayety and pleasure-seeking in thestreets which they were following. Coaches were numerous, pedestriansmany, and in Fifty-ninth Street the street cars were crowded. AtFifty-ninth Street and Fifth Avenue a blaze of lights from several newhotels which bordered the Plaza Square gave a suggestion of sumptuoushotel life. Fifth Avenue, the home of the wealthy, was noticeablycrowded with carriages, and gentlemen in evening dress. At Sherry's animposing doorman opened the coach door and helped them out. Young Amesheld Carrie's elbow as he helped her up the steps. They entered thelobby already swarming with patrons, and then, after divestingthemselves of their wraps, went into a sumptuous dining-room.

In all Carrie's experience she had never seen anything like this. In thewhole time she had been in New York Hurstwood's modified state had notpermitted his bringing her to such a place. There was an almostindescribable atmosphere about it which convinced the newcomer that thiswas the proper thing. Here was the place where the matter of expenselimited the patrons to the moneyed or pleasure-loving class. Carrie hadread of it often in the "Morning" and "Evening World." She had seennotices of dances, parties, balls, and suppers at Sherry's. The MissesSo-and-so would give a party on Wednesday evening at Sherry's. Young Mr.So-and-so would entertain a party of friends at a private luncheon onthe sixteenth, at Sherry's. The common run of conventional, perfunctorynotices of the doings of society, which she could scarcely refrain fromscanning each day, had given her a distinct idea of the gorgeousness andluxury of this wonderful temple of gastronomy. Now, at last, she wasreally in it. She had come up the imposing steps, guarded by the largeand portly doorman. She had seen the lobby, guarded by another large andportly gentleman, and been waited upon by uniformed youths who took careof canes, overcoats, and the like. Here was the splendid dining-chamber,all decorated and aglow, where the wealthy ate. Ah, how fortunate wasMrs. Vance; young, beautiful, and well off--at least, sufficiently so tocome here in a coach. What a wonderful thing it was to be rich.

Vance led the way through lanes of shining tables, at which were seatedparties of two, three, four, five, or six. The air of assurance anddignity about it all was exceedingly noticeable to the novitiate.Incandescent lights, the reflection of their glow in polished glasses,and the shine of gilt upon the walls, combined into one tone of lightwhich it requires minutes of complacent observation to separate and takeparticular note of. The white shirt fronts of the gentlemen, the brightcostumes of the ladies, diamonds, jewels, fine feathers--all wereexceedingly noticeable.

Carrie walked with an air equal to that of Mrs. Vance, and accepted theseat which the head waiter provided for her. She was keenly aware of allthe little things that were done--the little genuflections andattentions of the waiters and head waiter which Americans pay for. Theair with which the latter pulled out each chair, and the wave of thehand with which he motioned them to be seated, were worth severaldollars in themselves.

Once seated, there began that exhibition of showy, wasteful, andunwholesome gastronomy as practised by wealthy Americans, which is thewonder and astonishment of true culture and dignity the world over. Thelarge bill of fare held an array of dishes sufficient to feed an army,sidelined with prices which made reasonable expenditure a ridiculousimpossibility--an order of soup at fifty cents or a dollar, with a dozenkinds to choose from; oysters in forty styles and at sixty cents thehalf-dozen; entrées, fish, and meats at prices which would house oneover night in an average hotel. One dollar fifty and two dollars seemedto be the most common figures upon this most tastefully printed bill offare.

Carrie noticed this, and in scanning it the price of spring chickencarried her back to that other bill of fare and far different occasionwhen, for the first time, she sat with Drouet in a good restaurant inChicago. It was only momentary--a sad note as out of an old song--andthen it was gone. But in that flash was seen the other Carrie--poor,hungry, drifting at her wits' ends, and all Chicago a cold and closedworld, from which she only wandered because she could not find work.

On the walls were designs in colour, square spots of robin's-egg blue,set in ornate frames of gilt, whose corners were elaborate mouldings offruit and flowers, with fat cupids hovering in angelic comfort. On theceilings were coloured traceries with more gilt, leading to a centrewhere spread a cluster of lights--incandescent globes mingled withglittering prisms and stucco tendrils of gilt. The floor was of areddish hue, waxed and polished, and in every direction weremirrors--tall, brilliant, bevel-edged mirrors--reflecting andre-reflecting forms, faces, and candelabra a score and a hundred times.

The tables were not so remarkable in themselves, and yet the imprint ofSherry upon the napery, the name of Tiffany upon the silverware, thename of Haviland upon the china, and over all the glow of the small,red-shaded candelabra and the reflected tints of the walls on garmentsand faces, made them seem remarkable. Each waiter added an air ofexclusiveness and elegance by the manner in which he bowed, scraped,touched, and trifled with things. The exclusively personal attentionwhich he devoted to each one, standing half bent, ear to one side,elbows akimbo, saying: "Soup--green turtle, yes. One portion, yes.Oysters--certainly--half-dozen--yes. Asparagus. Olives--yes."

It would be the same with each one, only Vance essayed to order for all,inviting counsel and suggestions. Carrie studied the company with openeyes. So this was high life in New York. It was so that the rich spenttheir days and evenings. Her poor little mind could not rise aboveapplying each scene to all society. Every fine lady must be in the crowdon Broadway in the afternoon, in the theatre at the matinée, in thecoaches and dining-halls at night. It must be glow and shine everywhere,with coaches waiting, and footmen attending, and she was out of it all.In two long years she had never even been in such a place as this.

Vance was in his element here, as Hurstwood would have been in formerdays. He ordered freely of soup, oysters, roast meats, and side dishes,and had several bottles of wine brought, which were set down beside thetable in a wicker basket.

Ames was looking away rather abstractedly at the crowd and showed aninteresting profile to Carrie. His forehead was high, his nose ratherlarge and strong, his chin moderately pleasing. He had a good, wide,well-shaped mouth, and his dark-brown hair was parted slightly on oneside. He seemed to have the least touch of boyishness to Carrie, and yethe was a man full grown.

"Do you know," he said, turning back to Carrie, after his reflection, "Isometimes think it is a shame for people to spend so much money thisway."

Carrie looked at him a moment with the faintest touch of surprise at hisseriousness. He seemed to be thinking about something over which she hadnever pondered.

"Do you?" she answered, interestedly.

"Yes," he said, "they pay so much more than these things are worth. Theyput on so much show."

"I don't know why people shouldn't spend when they have it," said Mrs.Vance.

"It doesn't do any harm," said Vance, who was still studying the bill offare, though he had ordered.

Ames was looking away again, and Carrie was again looking at hisforehead. To her he seemed to be thinking about strange things. As hestudied the crowd his eye was mild.

"Look at that woman's dress over there," he said, again turning toCarrie, and nodding in a direction.

"Where?" said Carrie, following his eyes.

"Over there in the corner--way over. Do you see that brooch?"

"Isn't it large?" said Carrie.

"One of the largest clusters of jewels I have ever seen," said Ames.

"It is, isn't it?" said Carrie. She felt as if she would like to beagreeable to this young man, and also there came with it, or perhapspreceded it, the slightest shade of a feeling that he was bettereducated than she was--that his mind was better. He seemed to look it,and the saving grace in Carrie was that she could understand that peoplecould be wiser. She had seen a number of people in her life who remindedher of what she had vaguely come to think of as scholars. This strongyoung man beside her, with his clear, natural look, seemed to get a holdof things which she did not quite understand, but approved of. It wasfine to be so, as a man, she thought.

The conversation changed to a book that was having its vogue at thetime--"Moulding a Maiden," by Albert Ross. Mrs. Vance had read it. Vancehad seen it discussed in some of the papers.

"A man can make quite a strike writing a book," said Vance. "I noticethis fellow Ross is very much talked about." He was looking at Carrie ashe spoke.

"I hadn't heard of him," said Carrie, honestly.

"Oh, I have," said Mrs. Vance. "He's written lots of things. This laststory is pretty good."

"He doesn't amount to much," said Ames.

Carrie turned her eyes toward him as to an oracle.

"His stuff is nearly as bad as 'Dora Thorne,'" concluded Ames.

Carrie felt this as a personal reproof. She read "Dora Thorne," or had agreat deal in the past. It seemed only fair to her, but she supposedthat people thought it very fine. Now this clear-eyed, fine-headedyouth, who looked something like a student to her, made fun of it. Itwas poor to him, not worth reading. She looked down, and for the firsttime felt the pain of not understanding.

Yet there was nothing sarcastic or supercilious in the way Ames spoke.He had very little of that in him. Carrie felt that it was just kindlythought of a high order--the right thing to think, and wondered whatelse was right, according to him. He seemed to notice that she listenedand rather sympathised with him, and from now on he talked mostly toher.

As the waiter bowed and scraped about, felt the dishes to see if theywere hot enough, brought spoons and forks, and did all those littleattentive things calculated to impress the luxury of the situation uponthe diner, Ames also leaned slightly to one side and told her ofIndianapolis in an intelligent way. He really had a very bright mind,which was finding its chief development in electrical knowledge. Hissympathies for other forms of information, however, and for types ofpeople, were quick and warm. The red glow on his head gave it a sandytinge and put a bright glint in his eye. Carrie noticed all these thingsas he leaned toward her and felt exceedingly young. This man was farahead of her. He seemed wiser than Hurstwood, saner and brighter thanDrouet. He seemed innocent and clean, and she thought that he wasexceedingly pleasant. She noticed, also, that his interest in her was afar-off one. She was not in his life, nor any of the things that touchedhis life, and yet now, as he spoke of these things, they appealed toher.

"I shouldn't care to be rich," he told her, as the dinner proceeded andthe supply of food warmed up his sympathies; "not rich enough to spendmy money this way."

"Oh, wouldn't you?" said Carrie, the, to her, new attitude forcingitself distinctly upon her for the first time.

"No," he said. "What good would it do? A man doesn't need this sort ofthing to be happy."

Carrie thought of this doubtfully; but, coming from him, it had weightwith her.

"He probably could be happy," she thought to herself, "all alone. He'sso strong."

Mr. and Mrs. Vance kept up a running fire of interruptions, and theseimpressive things by Ames came at odd moments. They were sufficient,however, for the atmosphere that went with this youth impressed itselfupon Carrie without words. There was something in him, or the world hemoved in, which appealed to her. He reminded her of scenes she had seenon the stage--the sorrows and sacrifices that always went with she knewnot what. He had taken away some of the bitterness of the contrastbetween this life and her life, and all by a certain calm indifferencewhich concerned only him.

As they went out, he took her arm and helped her into the coach, andthen they were off again, and so to the show.

During the acts Carrie found herself listening to him very attentively.He mentioned things in the play which she most approved of--things whichswayed her deeply.

"Don't you think it rather fine to be an actor?" she asked once.

"Yes, I do," he said, "to be a good one. I think the theatre a greatthing."

Just this little approval set Carrie's heart bounding. Ah, if she couldonly be an actress--a good one! This man was wise--he knew--and heapproved of it. If she were a fine actress, such men as he wouldapprove of her. She felt that he was good to speak as he had, althoughit did not concern her at all. She did not know why she felt this way.

At the close of the show it suddenly developed that he was not goingback with them.

"Oh, aren't you?" said Carrie, with an unwarrantable feeling.

"Oh, no," he said; "I'm stopping right around here in Thirty-thirdStreet."

Carrie could not say anything else, but somehow this development shockedher. She had been regretting the wane of a pleasant evening, but she hadthought there was a half-hour more. Oh, the half-hours, the minutes ofthe world; what miseries and griefs are crowded into them!

She said good-bye with feigned indifference. What matter could it make?Still, the coach seemed lorn.

When she went into her own flat she had this to think about. She did notknow whether she would ever see this man any more. What difference couldit make--what difference could it make?

Hurstwood had returned, and was already in bed. His clothes werescattered loosely about. Carrie came to the door and saw him, thenretreated. She did not want to go in yet a while. She wanted to think.It was disagreeable to her.

Back in the dining-room she sat in her chair and rocked. Her littlehands were folded tightly as she thought. Through a fog of longing andconflicting desires she was beginning to see. Oh, ye legions of hope andpity--of sorrow and pain! She was rocking, and beginning to see.