Installed in her comfortable room, Carrie wondered how Hurstwood hadtaken her departure. She arranged a few things hastily and then left forthe theatre, half expecting to encounter him at the door. Not findinghim, her dread lifted, and she felt more kindly toward him. She quiteforgot him until about to come out, after the show, when the chance ofhis being there frightened her. As day after day passed and she heardnothing at all, the thought of being bothered by him passed. In a littlewhile she was, except for occasional thoughts, wholly free of the gloomwith which her life had been weighed in the flat.

It is curious to note how quickly a profession absorbs one. Carriebecame wise in theatrical lore, hearing the gossip of little Lola. Shelearned what the theatrical papers were, which ones published itemsabout actresses and the like. She began to read the newspaper notices,not only of the opera in which she had so small a part, but of others.Gradually the desire for notice took hold of her. She longed to berenowned like others, and read with avidity all the complimentary orcritical comments made concerning others high in her profession. Theshowy world in which her interest lay completely absorbed her.

It was about this time that the newspapers and magazines were beginningto pay that illustrative attention to the beauties of the stage whichhas since become fervid. The newspapers, and particularly the Sundaynewspapers, indulged in large decorative theatrical pages, in which thefaces and forms of well-known theatrical celebrities appeared, enclosedwith artistic scrolls. The magazines also--or at least one or two of thenewer ones--published occasional portraits of pretty stars, and now andagain photos of scenes from various plays. Carrie watched these withgrowing interest. When would a scene from her opera appear? When wouldsome paper think her photo worth while?

The Sunday before taking her new part she scanned the theatrical pagesfor some little notice. It would have accorded with her expectations ifnothing had been said, but there in the squibs, tailing off several moresubstantial items, was a wee notice. Carrie read it with a tinglingbody:

"The part of Katisha, the country maid, in 'The Wives of Abdul' at the Broadway, heretofore played by Inez Carew, will be hereafter filled by Carrie Madenda, one of the cleverest members of the chorus."

Carrie hugged herself with delight. Oh, wasn't it just fine! At last!The first, the long-hoped for, the delightful notice! And they calledher clever. She could hardly restrain herself from laughing loudly. HadLola seen it?

"They've got a notice here of the part I'm going to play to-morrownight," said Carrie to her friend.

"Oh, jolly! Have they?" cried Lola, running to her. "That's all right,"she said, looking. "You'll get more now, if you do well. I had mypicture in the 'World' once."

"Did you?" asked Carrie.

"Did I? Well, I should say," returned the little girl. "They had a framearound it."

Carrie laughed.

"They've never published my picture."

"But they will," said Lola. "You'll see. You do better than most thatget theirs in now."

Carrie felt deeply grateful for this. She almost loved Lola for thesympathy and praise she extended. It was so helpful to her--so almostnecessary.

Fulfilling her part capably brought another notice in the papers thatshe was doing her work acceptably. This pleased her immensely. She beganto think the world was taking note of her.

The first week she got her thirty-five dollars, it seemed an enormoussum. Paying only three dollars for room rent seemed ridiculous. Aftergiving Lola her twenty-five, she still had seven dollars left. With fourleft over from previous earnings, she had eleven. Five of this went topay the regular installment on the clothes she had to buy. The next weekshe was even in greater feather. Now, only three dollars need be paidfor room rent and five on her clothes. The rest she had for food and herown whims.

"You'd better save a little for summer," cautioned Lola. "We'll probablyclose in May."

"I intend to," said Carrie.

The regular entrance of thirty-five dollars a week to one who hasendured scant allowances for several years is a demoralising thing.Carrie found her purse bursting with good green bills of comfortabledenominations. Having no one dependent upon her, she began to buy prettyclothes and pleasing trinkets, to eat well, and to ornament her room.Friends were not long in gathering about. She met a few young men whobelonged to Lola's staff. The members of the opera company made heracquaintance without the formality of introduction. One of thesediscovered a fancy for her. On several occasions he strolled home withher.

"Let's stop in and have a rarebit," he suggested one midnight.

"Very well," said Carrie.

In the rosy restaurant, filled with the merry lovers of late hours, shefound herself criticising this man. He was too stilted, tooself-opinionated. He did not talk of anything that lifted her above thecommon run of clothes and material success. When it was all over, hesmiled most graciously.

"Got to go straight home, have you?" he said.

"Yes," she answered, with an air of quiet understanding.

"She's not so inexperienced as she looks," he thought, and thereafterhis respect and ardour were increased.

She could not help sharing in Lola's love for a good time. There weredays when they went carriage riding, nights when after the show theydined, afternoons when they strolled along Broadway, tastefully dressed.She was getting in the metropolitan whirl of pleasure.

At last her picture appeared in one of the weeklies. She had not knownof it, and it took her breath. "Miss Carrie Madenda," it was labelled."One of the favourites of 'The Wives of Abdul' company." At Lola'sadvice she had had some pictures taken by Sarony. They had got onethere. She thought of going down and buying a few copies of the paper,but remembered that there was no one she knew well enough to send themto. Only Lola, apparently, in all the world was interested.

The metropolis is a cold place socially, and Carrie soon found that alittle money brought her nothing. The world of wealth and distinctionwas quite as far away as ever. She could feel that there was no warm,sympathetic friendship back of the easy merriment with which manyapproached her. All seemed to be seeking their own amusement, regardlessof the possible sad consequence to others. So much for the lessons ofHurstwood and Drouet.

In April she learned that the opera would probably last until the middleor the end of May, according to the size of the audiences. Next seasonit would go on the road. She wondered if she would be with it. As usual,Miss Osborne, owing to her moderate salary, was for securing a homeengagement.

"They're putting on a summer play at the Casino," she announced, afterfiguratively putting her ear to the ground. "Let's try and get in that."

"I'm willing," said Carrie.

They tried in time and were apprised of the proper date to apply again.That was May 16th. Meanwhile their own show closed May 5th.

"Those that want to go with the show next season," said the manager,"will have to sign this week."

"Don't you sign," advised Lola. "I wouldn't go."

"I know," said Carrie, "but maybe I can't get anything else."

"Well, I won't," said the little girl, who had a resource in heradmirers. "I went once and I didn't have anything at the end of theseason."

Carrie thought this over. She had never been on the road.

"We can get along," added Lola. "I always have."

Carrie did not sign.

The manager who was putting on the summer skit at the Casino had neverheard of Carrie, but the several notices she had received, herpublished picture, and the programme bearing her name had some littleweight with him. He gave her a silent part at thirty dollars a week.

"Didn't I tell you?" said Lola. "It doesn't do you any good to go awayfrom New York. They forget all about you if you do."

Now, because Carrie was pretty, the gentlemen who made up the advanceillustrations of shows about to appear for the Sunday papers selectedCarrie's photo along with others to illustrate the announcement. Becauseshe was very pretty, they gave it excellent space and drew scrolls aboutit. Carrie was delighted. Still, the management did not seem to haveseen anything of it. At least, no more attention was paid to her thanbefore. At the same time there seemed very little in her part. Itconsisted of standing around in all sorts of scenes, a silent littleQuakeress. The author of the skit had fancied that a great deal could bemade of such a part, given to the right actress, but now, since it hadbeen doled out to Carrie, he would as leave have had it cut out.

"Don't kick, old man," remarked the manager. "If it don't go the firstweek we will cut it out."

Carrie had no warning of this halcyon intention. She practised her partruefully, feeling that she was effectually shelved. At the dressrehearsal she was disconsolate.

"That isn't so bad," said the author, the manager noting the curiouseffect which Carrie's blues had upon the part. "Tell her to frown alittle more when Sparks dances."

Carrie did not know it, but there was the least show of wrinkles betweenher eyes and her mouth was puckered quaintly.

"Frown a little more, Miss Madenda," said the stage manager.

Carrie instantly brightened up, thinking he had meant it as a rebuke.

"No; frown," he said. "Frown as you did before."

Carrie looked at him in astonishment.

"I mean it," he said. "Frown hard when Mr. Sparks dances. I want to seehow it looks."

It was easy enough to do. Carrie scowled. The effect was something soquaint and droll it caught even the manager.

"That _is_ good," he said. "If she'll do that all through, I think itwill take."

Going over to Carrie, he said:

"Suppose you try frowning all through. Do it hard. Look mad. It'll makethe part really funny."

On the opening night it looked to Carrie as if there were nothing to herpart, after all. The happy, sweltering audience did not seem to see herin the first act. She frowned and frowned, but to no effect. Eyes wereriveted upon the more elaborate efforts of the stars.

In the second act, the crowd, wearied by a dull conversation, roved withits eyes about the stage and sighted her. There she was, grey-suited,sweet-faced, demure, but scowling. At first the general idea was thatshe was temporarily irritated, that the look was genuine and not fun atall. As she went on frowning, looking now at one principal and now atthe other, the audience began to smile. The portly gentlemen in thefront rows began to feel that she was a delicious little morsel. It wasthe kind of frown they would have loved to force away with kisses. Allthe gentlemen yearned toward her. She was capital.

At last, the chief comedian, singing in the centre of the stage, noticeda giggle where it was not expected. Then another and another. When theplace came for loud applause it was only moderate. What could be thetrouble? He realised that something was up.

All at once, after an exit, he caught sight of Carrie. She was frowningalone on the stage and the audience was giggling and laughing.

"By George, I won't stand that!" thought the thespian. "I'm not going tohave my work cut up by some one else. Either she quits that when I do myturn or I quit."

"Why, that's all right," said the manager, when the kick came. "That'swhat she's supposed to do. You needn't pay any attention to that."

"But she ruins my work."

"No, she don't," returned the former, soothingly. "It's only a littlefun on the side."

"It is, eh?" exclaimed the big comedian. "She killed my hand all right.I'm not going to stand that."

"Well, wait until after the show. Wait until to-morrow. We'll see whatwe can do."

The next act, however, settled what was to be done. Carrie was the chieffeature of the play. The audience, the more it studied her, the more itindicated its delight. Every other feature paled beside the quaint,teasing, delightful atmosphere which Carrie contributed while on thestage. Manager and company realised she had made a hit.

The critics of the daily papers completed her triumph. There were longnotices in praise of the quality of the burlesque, touched withrecurrent references to Carrie. The contagious mirth of the thing wasrepeatedly emphasised.

"Miss Madenda presents one of the most delightful bits of character work ever seen on the Casino stage," observed the sage critic of the "Sun." "It is a bit of quiet, unassuming drollery which warms like good wine. Evidently the part was not intended to take precedence, as Miss Madenda is not often on the stage, but the audience, with the characteristic perversity of such bodies, selected for itself. The little Quakeress was marked for a favourite the moment she appeared, and thereafter easily held attention and applause. The vagaries of fortune are indeed curious."

The critic of the "Evening World," seeking as usual to establish a catchphrase which should "go" with the town, wound up by advising: "If youwish to be merry, see Carrie frown."

The result was miraculous so far as Carrie's fortune was concerned. Evenduring the morning she received a congratulatory message from themanager.

"You seem to have taken the town by storm," he wrote. "This isdelightful. I am as glad for your sake as for my own."

The author also sent word.

That evening when she entered the theatre the manager had a mostpleasant greeting for her.

"Mr. Stevens," he said, referring to the author, "is preparing a littlesong, which he would like you to sing next week."

"Oh, I can't sing," returned Carrie.

"It isn't anything difficult. 'It's something that is very simple,' hesays, 'and would suit you exactly.'"

"Of course, I wouldn't mind trying," said Carrie, archly.

"Would you mind coming to the box-office a few moments before youdress?" observed the manager, in addition. "There's a little matter Iwant to speak to you about."

"Certainly," replied Carrie.

In that latter place the manager produced a paper.

"Now, of course," he said, "we want to be fair with you in the matter ofsalary. Your contract here only calls for thirty dollars a week for thenext three months. How would it do to make it, say, one hundred andfifty a week and extend it for twelve months?"

"Oh, very well," said Carrie, scarcely believing her ears.

"Supposing, then, you just sign this."

Carrie looked and beheld a new contract made out like the other one,with the exception of the new figures of salary and time. With a handtrembling from excitement she affixed her name.

"One hundred and fifty a week!" she murmured, when she was again alone.She found, after all--as what millionaire has not?--that there was norealising, in consciousness, the meaning of large sums. It was only ashimmering, glittering phrase in which lay a world of possibilities.

Down in a third-rate Bleecker Street hotel, the brooding Hurstwood readthe dramatic item covering Carrie's success, without at first realisingwho was meant. Then suddenly it came to him and he read the whole thingover again.

"That's her, all right, I guess," he said.

Then he looked about upon a dingy, moth-eaten hotel lobby.

"I guess she's struck it," he thought, a picture of the old shiny,plush-covered world coming back, with its lights, its ornaments, itscarriages, and flowers. Ah, she was in the walled city now! Its splendidgates had opened, admitting her from a cold, dreary outside. She seemeda creature afar off--like every other celebrity he had known.

"Well, let her have it," he said. "I won't bother her."

It was the grim resolution of a bent, bedraggled, but unbroken pride.