What Hurstwood got as the result of this determination was moreself-assurance that each particular day was not the day. At the sametime, Carrie passed through thirty days of mental distress.

Her need of clothes--to say nothing of her desire for ornaments--grewrapidly as the fact developed that for all her work she was not to havethem. The sympathy she felt for Hurstwood, at the time he asked her totide him over, vanished with these newer urgings of decency. He was notalways renewing his request, but this love of good appearance was. Itinsisted, and Carrie wished to satisfy it, wished more and more thatHurstwood was not in the way.

Hurstwood reasoned, when he neared the last ten dollars, that he hadbetter keep a little pocket change and not become wholly dependent forcar-fare, shaves, and the like; so when this sum was still in his handhe announced himself as penniless.

"I'm clear out," he said to Carrie one afternoon. "I paid for some coalthis morning, and that took all but ten or fifteen cents."

"I've got some money there in my purse."

Hurstwood went to get it, starting for a can of tomatoes. Carriescarcely noticed that this was the beginning of the new order. He tookout fifteen cents and bought the can with it. Thereafter it was dribsand drabs of this sort, until one morning Carrie suddenly rememberedthat she would not be back until close to dinner time.

"We're all out of flour," she said; "you'd better get some thisafternoon. We haven't any meat, either. How would it do if we had liverand bacon?"

"Suits me," said Hurstwood.

"Better get a half or three-quarters of a pound of that."

"Half'll be enough," volunteered Hurstwood.

She opened her purse and laid down a half dollar. He pretended not tonotice it.

Hurstwood bought the flour--which all grocers sold in 3-1/2-poundpackages--for thirteen cents and paid fifteen cents for a half-pound ofliver and bacon. He left the packages, together with the balance ofthirty-two cents, upon the kitchen table, where Carrie found it. It didnot escape her that the change was accurate. There was something sad inrealising that, after all, all that he wanted of her was something toeat. She felt as if hard thoughts were unjust. Maybe he would getsomething yet. He had no vices.

That very evening, however, on going into the theatre, one of the chorusgirls passed her all newly arrayed in a pretty mottled tweed suit, whichtook Carrie's eye. The young woman wore a fine bunch of violets andseemed in high spirits. She smiled at Carrie good-naturedly as shepassed, showing pretty, even teeth, and Carrie smiled back.

"She can afford to dress well," thought Carrie, "and so could I, if Icould only keep my money. I haven't a decent tie of any kind to wear."

She put out her foot and looked at her shoe reflectively.

"I'll get a pair of shoes Saturday, anyhow; I don't care what happens."

One of the sweetest and most sympathetic little chorus girls in thecompany made friends with her because in Carrie she found nothing tofrighten her away. She was a gay little Manon, unwitting of society'sfierce conception of morality, but, nevertheless, good to her neighbourand charitable. Little license was allowed the chorus in the matter ofconversation, but, nevertheless, some was indulged in.

"It's warm to-night, isn't it?" said this girl, arrayed in pinkfleshings and an imitation golden helmet. She also carried a shiningshield.

"Yes; it is," said Carrie, pleased that some one should talk to her.

"I'm almost roasting," said the girl.

Carrie looked into her pretty face, with its large blue eyes, and sawlittle beads of moisture.

"There's more marching in this opera than ever I did before," added thegirl.

"Have you been in others?" asked Carrie, surprised at her experience.

"Lots of them," said the girl; "haven't you?"

"This is my first experience."

"Oh, is it? I thought I saw you the time they ran 'The Queen's Mate'here."

"No," said Carrie, shaking her head; "not me."

This conversation was interrupted by the blare of the orchestra and thesputtering of the calcium lights in the wings as the line was called toform for a new entrance. No further opportunity for conversationoccurred, but the next evening, when they were getting ready for thestage, this girl appeared anew at her side.

"They say this show is going on the road next month."

"Is it?" said Carrie.

"Yes; do you think you'll go?"

"I don't know; I guess so, if they'll take me."

"Oh, they'll take you. I wouldn't go. They won't give you any more, andit will cost you everything you make to live. I never leave New York.There are too many shows going on here."

"Can you always get in another show?"

"I always have. There's one going on up at the Broadway this month. I'mgoing to try and get in that if this one really goes."

Carrie heard this with aroused intelligence. Evidently it wasn't so verydifficult to get on. Maybe she also could get a place if this show wentaway.

"Do they all pay about the same?" she asked.

"Yes. Sometimes you get a little more. This show doesn't pay very much."

"I get twelve," said Carrie.

"Do you?" said the girl. "They pay me fifteen, and you do more work thanI do. I wouldn't stand it if I were you. They're just giving you lessbecause they think you don't know. You ought to be making fifteen."

"Well, I'm not," said Carrie.

"Well, you'll get more at the next place if you want it," went on thegirl, who admired Carrie very much. "You do fine, and the manager knowsit."

To say the truth, Carrie did unconsciously move about with an airpleasing and somewhat distinctive. It was due wholly to her naturalmanner and total lack of self-consciousness.

"Do you suppose I could get more up at the Broadway?"

"Of course you can," answered the girl. "You come with me when I go.I'll do the talking."

Carrie heard this, flushing with thankfulness. She liked this littlegaslight soldier. She seemed so experienced and self-reliant in hertinsel helmet and military accoutrements.

"My future must be assured if I can always get work this way," thoughtCarrie.

Still, in the morning, when her household duties would infringe upon herand Hurstwood sat there, a perfect load to contemplate, her fate seemeddismal and unrelieved. It did not take so very much to feed them underHurstwood's close-measured buying, and there would possibly be enoughfor rent, but it left nothing else. Carrie bought the shoes and someother things, which complicated the rent problem very seriously.Suddenly, a week from the fatal day, Carrie realised that they weregoing to run short.

"I don't believe," she exclaimed, looking into her purse at breakfast,"that I'll have enough to pay the rent."

"How much have you?" inquired Hurstwood.

"Well, I've got twenty-two dollars, but there's everything to be paidfor this week yet, and if I use all I get Saturday to pay this, therewon't be any left for next week. Do you think your hotel man will openhis hotel this month?"

"I think so," returned Hurstwood. "He said he would."

After a while, Hurstwood said:

"Don't worry about it. Maybe the grocer will wait. He can do that. We'vetraded there long enough to make him trust us for a week or two."

"Do you think he will?" she asked.

"I think so."

On this account, Hurstwood, this very day, looked grocer Oesloggeclearly in the eye as he ordered a pound of coffee, and said:

"Do you mind carrying my account until the end of every week?"

"No, no, Mr. Wheeler," said Mr. Oeslogge. "Dat iss all right."

Hurstwood, still tactful in distress, added nothing to this. It seemedan easy thing. He looked out of the door, and then gathered up hiscoffee when ready and came away. The game of a desperate man had begun.

Rent was paid, and now came the grocer. Hurstwood managed by paying outof his own ten and collecting from Carrie at the end of the week. Thenhe delayed a day next time settling with the grocer, and so soon had histen back, with Oeslogge getting his pay on this Thursday or Friday forlast Saturday's bill.

This entanglement made Carrie anxious for a change of some sort.Hurstwood did not seem to realise that she had a right to anything. Heschemed to make what she earned cover all expenses, but seemed not totrouble over adding anything himself.

"He talks about worrying," thought Carrie. "If he worried enough hecouldn't sit there and wait for me. He'd get something to do. No mancould go seven months without finding something if he tried."

The sight of him always around in his untidy clothes and gloomyappearance drove Carrie to seek relief in other places. Twice a weekthere were matinées, and then Hurstwood ate a cold snack, which heprepared himself. Two other days there were rehearsals beginning at tenin the morning and lasting usually until one. Now, to this Carrie addeda few visits to one or two chorus girls, including the blue-eyed soldierof the golden helmet. She did it because it was pleasant and a relieffrom dulness of the home over which her husband brooded.

The blue-eyed soldier's name was Osborne--Lola Osborne. Her room was inNineteenth Street near Fourth Avenue, a block now given up wholly tooffice buildings. Here she had a comfortable back room, looking over acollection of back yards in which grew a number of shade trees pleasantto see.

"Isn't your home in New York?" she asked of Lola one day.

"Yes; but I can't get along with my people. They always want me to dowhat they want. Do you live here?"

"Yes," said Carrie.

"With your family?"

Carrie was ashamed to say that she was married. She had talked so muchabout getting more salary and confessed to so much anxiety about herfuture, that now, when the direct question of fact was waiting, shecould not tell this girl.

"With some relatives," she answered.

Miss Osborne took it for granted that, like herself, Carrie's time washer own. She invariably asked her to stay, proposing little outings andother things of that sort until Carrie began neglecting her dinnerhours. Hurstwood noticed it, but felt in no position to quarrel withher. Several times she came so late as scarcely to have an hour in whichto patch up a meal and start for the theatre.

"Do you rehearse in the afternoons?" Hurstwood once asked, concealingalmost completely the cynical protest and regret which prompted it.

"No; I was looking around for another place," said Carrie.

As a matter of fact she was, but only in such a way as furnished theleast straw of an excuse. Miss Osborne and she had gone to the office ofthe manager who was to produce the new opera at the Broadway andreturned straight to the former's room, where they had been since threeo'clock.

Carrie felt this question to be an infringement on her liberty. She didnot take into account how much liberty she was securing. Only the lateststep, the newest freedom, must not be questioned.

Hurstwood saw it all clearly enough. He was shrewd after his kind, andyet there was enough decency in the man to stop him from making anyeffectual protest. In his almost inexplicable apathy he was content todroop supinely while Carrie drifted out of his life, just as he waswilling supinely to see opportunity pass beyond his control. He couldnot help clinging and protesting in a mild, irritating, and ineffectualway, however--a way that simply widened the breach by slow degrees.

A further enlargement of this chasm between them came when the manager,looking between the wings upon the brightly lighted stage where thechorus was going through some of its glittering evolutions, said to themaster of the ballet:

"Who is that fourth girl there on the right--the one coming round at theend now?"

"Oh," said the ballet-master, "that's Miss Madenda."

"She's good looking. Why don't you let her head that line?"

"I will," said the man.

"Just do that. She'll look better there than the woman you've got."

"All right. I will do that," said the master.

The next evening Carrie was called out, much as if for an error.

"You lead your company to-night," said the master.

"Yes, sir," said Carrie.

"Put snap into it," he added. "We must have snap."

"Yes, sir," replied Carrie.

Astonished at this change, she thought that the heretofore leader mustbe ill; but when she saw her in the line, with a distinct expression ofsomething unfavourable in her eye, she began to think that perhaps itwas merit.

She had a chic way of tossing her head to one side, and holding her armsas if for action--not listlessly. In front of the line this showed upeven more effectually.

"That girl knows how to carry herself," said the manager, anotherevening. He began to think that he should like to talk with her. If hehadn't made it a rule to have nothing to do with the members of thechorus, he would have approached her most unbendingly.

"Put that girl at the head of the white column," he suggested to the manin charge of the ballet.

This white column consisted of some twenty girls, all in snow-whiteflannel trimmed with silver and blue. Its leader was most stunninglyarrayed in the same colours, elaborated, however, with epaulets and abelt of silver, with a short sword dangling at one side. Carrie wasfitted for this costume, and a few days later appeared, proud of her newlaurels. She was especially gratified to find that her salary was noweighteen instead of twelve.

Hurstwood heard nothing about this.

"I'll not give him the rest of my money," said Carrie. "I do enough. Iam going to get me something to wear."

As a matter of fact, during this second month she had been buying forherself as recklessly as she dared, regardless of the consequences.There were impending more complications rent day, and more extension ofthe credit system in the neighbourhood. Now, however, she proposed to dobetter by herself.

Her first move was to buy a shirt waist, and in studying these she foundhow little her money would buy--how much, if she could only use all. Sheforgot that if she were alone she would have to pay for a room andboard, and imagined that every cent of her eighteen could be spent forclothes and things that she liked.

At last she picked upon something, which not only used up all hersurplus above twelve, but invaded that sum. She knew she was going toofar, but her feminine love of finery prevailed. The next day Hurstwoodsaid:

"We owe the grocer five dollars and forty cents this week."

"Do we?" said Carrie, frowning a little.

She looked in her purse to leave it.

"I've only got eight dollars and twenty cents altogether."

"We owe the milkman sixty cents," added Hurstwood.

"Yes, and there's the coal man," said Carrie.

Hurstwood said nothing. He had seen the new things she was buying; theway she was neglecting household duties; the readiness with which shewas slipping out afternoons and staying. He felt that something wasgoing to happen. All at once she spoke:

"I don't know," she said; "I can't do it all. I don't earn enough."

This was a direct challenge. Hurstwood had to take it up. He tried to becalm.

"I don't want you to do it all," he said. "I only want a little helpuntil I can get something to do."

"Oh, yes," answered Carrie. "That's always the way. It takes more thanI can earn to pay for things. I don't see what I'm going to do."

"Well, I've tried to get something," he exclaimed. "What do you want meto do?"

"You couldn't have tried so very hard," said Carrie. "I got something."

"Well, I did," he said, angered almost to harsh words. "You needn'tthrow up your success to me. All I asked was a little help until I couldget something. I'm not down yet. I'll come up all right."

He tried to speak steadily, but his voice trembled a little.

Carrie's anger melted on the instant. She felt ashamed.

"Well," she said, "here's the money," and emptied it out on the table."I haven't got quite enough to pay it all. If they can wait untilSaturday, though, I'll have some more."

"You keep it," said Hurstwood, sadly. "I only want enough to pay thegrocer."

She put it back, and proceeded to get dinner early and in good time. Herlittle bravado made her feel as if she ought to make amends.

In a little while their old thoughts returned to both.

"She's making more than she says," thought Hurstwood. "She says she'smaking twelve, but that wouldn't buy all those things. I don't care. Lether keep her money. I'll get something again one of these days. Then shecan go to the deuce."

He only said this in his anger, but it prefigured a possible course ofaction and attitude well enough.

"I don't care," thought Carrie. "He ought to be told to get out and dosomething. It isn't right that I should support him."

In these days Carrie was introduced to several youths, friends of MissOsborne, who were of the kind most aptly described as gay and festive.They called once to get Miss Osborne for an afternoon drive. Carrie waswith her at the time.

"Come and go along," said Lola.

"No, I can't," said Carrie.

"Oh, yes, come and go. What have you got to do?"

"I have to be home by five," said Carrie.

"What for?"

"Oh, dinner."

"They'll take us to dinner," said Lola.

"Oh, no," said Carrie. "I won't go. I can't."

"Oh, do come. They're awful nice boys. We'll get you back in time. We'reonly going for a drive in Central Park."

Carrie thought a while, and at last yielded.

"Now, I must be back by half-past four," she said.

The information went in one ear of Lola and out the other.

After Drouet and Hurstwood, there was the least touch of cynicism in herattitude toward young men--especially of the gay and frivolous sort. Shefelt a little older than they. Some of their pretty compliments seemedsilly. Still, she was young in heart and body and youth appealed to her.

"Oh, we'll be right back, Miss Madenda," said one of the chaps, bowing."You wouldn't think we'd keep you over time, now, would you?"

"Well, I don't know," said Carrie, smiling.

They were off for a drive--she, looking about and noticing fineclothing, the young men voicing those silly pleasantries and weak quipswhich pass for humour in coy circles. Carrie saw the great park paradeof carriages, beginning at the Fifty-ninth Street entrance and windingpast the Museum of Art to the exit at One Hundred and Tenth Street andSeventh Avenue. Her eye was once more taken by the show of wealth--theelaborate costumes, elegant harnesses, spirited horses, and, above all,the beauty. Once more the plague of poverty galled her, but now sheforgot in a measure her own troubles so far as to forget Hurstwood. Hewaited until four, five, and even six. It was getting dark when he gotup out of his chair.

"I guess she isn't coming home," he said, grimly.

"That's the way," he thought. "She's getting a start now. I'm out ofit."

Carrie had really discovered her neglect, but only at a quarter afterfive, and the open carriage was now far up Seventh Avenue, near theHarlem River.

"What time is it?" she inquired. "I must be getting back."

"A quarter after five," said her companion, consulting an elegant,open-faced watch.

"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Carrie. Then she settled back with a sigh."There's no use crying over spilt milk," she said. "It's too late."

"Of course it is," said the youth, who saw visions of a fine dinner now,and such invigorating talk as would result in a reunion after the show.He was greatly taken with Carrie. "We'll drive down to Delmonico's nowand have something there, won't we, Orrin?"

"To be sure," replied Orrin, gaily.

Carrie thought of Hurstwood. Never before had she neglected dinnerwithout an excuse.

They drove back, and at 6.15 sat down to dine. It was the Sherryincident over again, the remembrance of which came painfully back toCarrie. She remembered Mrs. Vance, who had never called again afterHurstwood's reception, and Ames.

At this figure her mind halted. It was a strong, clean vision. He likedbetter books than she read, better people than she associated with. Hisideals burned in her heart.

"It's fine to be a good actress," came distinctly back.

What sort of an actress was she?

"What are you thinking about, Miss Madenda?" inquired her merrycompanion. "Come, now, let's see if I can guess."

"Oh, no," said Carrie. "Don't try."

She shook it off and ate. She forgot, in part, and was merry. When itcame to the after-theatre proposition, however, she shook her head.

"No," she said, "I can't. I have a previous engagement."

"Oh, now, Miss Madenda," pleaded the youth.

"No," said Carrie, "I can't. You've been so kind, but you'll have toexcuse me."

The youth looked exceedingly crestfallen.

"Cheer up, old man," whispered his companion. "We'll go around, anyhow.She may change her mind."