When Carrie got back on the stage, she found that over night herdressing-room had been changed.

"You are to use this room, Miss Madenda," said one of the stage lackeys.

No longer any need of climbing several flights of steps to a small coopshared with another. Instead, a comparatively large and commodiouschamber with conveniences not enjoyed by the small fry overhead. Shebreathed deeply and with delight. Her sensations were more physical thanmental. In fact, she was scarcely thinking at all. Heart and body werehaving their say.

Gradually the deference and congratulation gave her a mentalappreciation of her state. She was no longer ordered, but requested, andthat politely. The other members of the cast looked at her enviously asshe came out arrayed in her simple habit, which she wore all through theplay. All those who had supposedly been her equals and superiors nowsmiled the smile of sociability, as much as to say: "How friendly wehave always been." Only the star comedian whose part had been so deeplyinjured stalked by himself. Figuratively, he could not kiss the handthat smote him.

Doing her simple part, Carrie gradually realised the meaning of theapplause which was for her, and it was sweet. She felt mildly guilty ofsomething--perhaps unworthiness. When her associates addressed her inthe wings she only smiled weakly. The pride and daring of place were notfor her. It never once crossed her mind to be reserved or haughty--to beother than she had been. After the performances she rode to her roomwith Lola, in a carriage provided.

Then came a week in which the first fruits of success were offered toher lips--bowl after bowl. It did not matter that her splendid salaryhad not begun. The world seemed satisfied with the promise. She began toget letters and cards. A Mr. Withers--whom she did not know fromAdam--having learned by some hook or crook where she resided, bowedhimself politely in.

"You will excuse me for intruding," he said; "but have you been thinkingof changing your apartments?"

"I hadn't thought of it," returned Carrie.

"Well, I am connected with the Wellington--the new hotel on Broadway.You have probably seen notices of it in the papers."

Carrie recognised the name as standing for one of the newest and mostimposing hostelries. She had heard it spoken of as having a splendidrestaurant.

"Just so," went on Mr. Withers, accepting her acknowledgment offamiliarity. "We have some very elegant rooms at present which we wouldlike to have you look at, if you have not made up your mind where youintend to reside for the summer. Our apartments are perfect in everydetail--hot and cold water, private baths, special hall service forevery floor, elevators, and all that. You know what our restaurant is."

Carrie looked at him quietly. She was wondering whether he took her tobe a millionaire.

"What are your rates?" she inquired.

"Well, now, that is what I came to talk with you privately about. Ourregular rates are anywhere from three to fifty dollars a day."

"Mercy!" interrupted Carrie. "I couldn't pay any such rate as that."

"I know how you feel about it," exclaimed Mr. Withers, halting. "Butjust let me explain. I said those are our regular rates. Like everyother hotel we make special ones, however. Possibly you have not thoughtabout it, but your name is worth something to us."

"Oh!" ejaculated Carrie, seeing at a glance.

"Of course. Every hotel depends upon the repute of its patrons. Awell-known actress like yourself," and he bowed politely, while Carrieflushed, "draws attention to the hotel, and--although you may notbelieve it--patrons."

"Oh, yes," returned Carrie, vacantly, trying to arrange this curiousproposition in her mind.

"Now," continued Mr. Withers, swaying his derby hat softly and beatingone of his polished shoes upon the floor, "I want to arrange, ifpossible, to have you come and stop at the Wellington. You need nottrouble about terms. In fact, we need hardly discuss them. Anything willdo for the summer--a mere figure--anything that you think you couldafford to pay."

Carrie was about to interrupt, but he gave her no chance.

"You can come to-day or to-morrow--the earlier the better--and we willgive you your choice of nice, light, outside rooms--the very best wehave."

"You're very kind," said Carrie, touched by the agent's extremeaffability. "I should like to come very much. I would want to pay whatis right, however. I shouldn't want to----"

"You need not trouble about that at all," interrupted Mr. Withers. "Wecan arrange that to your entire satisfaction at any time. If threedollars a day is satisfactory to you, it will be so to us. All you haveto do is to pay that sum to the clerk at the end of the week or month,just as you wish, and he will give you a receipt for what the roomswould cost if charged for at our regular rates."

The speaker paused.

"Suppose you come and look at the rooms," he added.

"I'd be glad to," said Carrie, "but I have a rehearsal this morning."

"I did not mean at once," he returned. "Any time will do. Would thisafternoon be inconvenient?"

"Not at all," said Carrie.

Suddenly she remembered Lola, who was out at the time.

"I have a room-mate," she added, "who will have to go wherever I do. Iforgot about that."

"Oh, very well," said Mr. Withers, blandly. "It is for you to say whomyou want with you. As I say, all that can be arranged to suit yourself."

He bowed and backed toward the door.

"At four, then, we may expect you?"

"Yes," said Carrie.

"I will be there to show you," and so Mr. Withers withdrew.

After rehearsal Carrie informed Lola.

"Did they really?" exclaimed the latter, thinking of the Wellington as agroup of managers. "Isn't that fine? Oh, jolly! It's so swell. That'swhere we dined that night we went with those two Cushing boys. Don't youknow?"

"I remember," said Carrie.

"Oh, it's as fine as it can be."

"We'd better be going up there," observed Carrie, later in theafternoon.

The rooms which Mr. Withers displayed to Carrie and Lola were three andbath--a suite on the parlour floor. They were done in chocolate and darkred, with rugs and hangings to match. Three windows looked down intobusy Broadway on the east, three into a side street which crossed there.There were two lovely bedrooms, set with brass and white enamel beds,white, ribbon-trimmed chairs and chiffoniers to match. In the thirdroom, or parlour, was a piano, a heavy piano lamp, with a shade ofgorgeous pattern, a library table, several huge easy rockers, some dadobook shelves, and a gilt curio case, filled with oddities. Pictures wereupon the walls, soft Turkish pillows upon the divan, footstools of brownplush upon the floor. Such accommodations would ordinarily cost ahundred dollars a week.

"Oh, lovely!" exclaimed Lola, walking about.

"It is comfortable," said Carrie, who was lifting a lace curtain andlooking down into crowded Broadway.

The bath was a handsome affair, done in white enamel, with a large,blue-bordered stone tub and nickel trimmings. It was bright andcommodious, with a bevelled mirror set in the wall at one end andincandescent lights arranged in three places.

"Do you find these satisfactory?" observed Mr. Withers.

"Oh, very," answered Carrie.

"Well, then, any time you find it convenient to move in, they are ready.The boy will bring you the keys at the door."

Carrie noted the elegantly carpeted and decorated hall, the marbelledlobby, and showy waiting-room. It was such a place as she had oftendreamed of occupying.

"I guess we'd better move right away, don't you think so?" she observedto Lola, thinking of the commonplace chamber in Seventeenth Street.

"Oh, by all means," said the latter.

The next day her trunks left for the new abode.

Dressing, after the matinée on Wednesday, a knock came at herdressing-room door.

Carrie looked at the card handed by the boy and suffered a shock ofsurprise.

"Tell her I'll be right out," she said softly. Then, looking at thecard, added: "Mrs. Vance."

"Why, you little sinner," the latter exclaimed, as she saw Carrie comingtoward her across the now vacant stage. "How in the world did thishappen?"

Carrie laughed merrily. There was no trace of embarrassment in herfriend's manner. You would have thought that the long separation hadcome about accidentally.

"I don't know," returned Carrie, warming, in spite of her first troubledfeelings, toward this handsome, good-natured young matron.

"Well, you know, I saw your picture in the Sunday paper, but your namethrew me off. I thought it must be you or somebody that looked just likeyou, and I said: 'Well, now, I will go right down there and see.' I wasnever more surprised in my life. How are you anyway?"

"Oh, very well," returned Carrie. "How have you been?"

"Fine. But aren't you a success! Dear, oh! All the papers talking aboutyou. I should think you would be just too proud to breathe. I was almostafraid to come back here this afternoon."

"Oh, nonsense," said Carrie, blushing. "You know I'd be glad to seeyou."

"Well, anyhow, here you are. Can't you come up and take dinner with menow? Where are you stopping?"

"At the Wellington," said Carrie, who permitted herself a touch of pridein the acknowledgment.

"Oh, are you?" exclaimed the other, upon whom the name was not withoutits proper effect.

Tactfully, Mrs. Vance avoided the subject of Hurstwood, of whom shecould not help thinking. No doubt Carrie had left him. That much shesurmised.

"Oh, I don't think I can," said Carrie, "to-night. I have so littletime. I must be back here by 7.30. Won't you come and dine with me?"

"I'd be delighted, but I can't to-night," said Mrs. Vance, studyingCarrie's fine appearance. The latter's good fortune made her seem morethan ever worthy and delightful in the other's eyes. "I promisedfaithfully to be home at six." Glancing at the small gold watch pinnedto her bosom, she added: "I must be going, too. Tell me when you'recoming up, if at all."

"Why, any time you like," said Carrie.

"Well, to-morrow then. I'm living at the Chelsea now."

"Moved again?" exclaimed Carrie, laughing.

"Yes. You know I can't stay six months in one place. I just have tomove. Remember now--half-past five."

"I won't forget," said Carrie, casting a glance at her as she went away.Then it came to her that she was as good as this woman now--perhapsbetter. Something in the other's solicitude and interest made her feelas if she were the one to condescend.

Now, as on each preceding day, letters were handed her by the doormanat the Casino. This was a feature which had rapidly developed sinceMonday. What they contained she well knew. _Mash notes_ were old affairsin their mildest form. She remembered having received her first one farback in Columbia City. Since then, as a chorus girl, she had receivedothers--gentlemen who prayed for an engagement. They were common sportbetween her and Lola, who received some also. They both frequently madelight of them.

Now, however, they came thick and fast. Gentlemen with fortunes did nothesitate to note, as an addition to their own amiable collection ofvirtues, that they had their horses and carriages. Thus one:

"I have a million in my own right. I could give you every luxury. There isn't anything you could ask for that you couldn't have. I say this, not because I want to speak of my money, but because I love you and wish to gratify your every desire. It is love that prompts me to write. Will you not give me one half-hour in which to plead my cause?"

Such of these letters as came while Carrie was still in the SeventeenthStreet place were read with more interest--though never delight--thanthose which arrived after she was installed in her luxurious quarters atthe Wellington. Even there her vanity--or that self-appreciation which,in its more rabid form, is called vanity--was not sufficiently cloyed tomake these things wearisome. Adulation, being new in any form, pleasedher. Only she was sufficiently wise to distinguish between her oldcondition and her new one. She had not had fame or money before. Nowthey had come. She had not had adulation and affectionate propositionsbefore. Now they had come. Wherefore? She smiled to think that menshould suddenly find her so much more attractive. In the least way itincited her to coolness and indifference.

"Do look here," she remarked to Lola. "See what this man says: 'If youwill only deign to grant me one half-hour,'" she repeated, with animitation of languor. "The idea. Aren't men silly?"

"He must have lots of money, the way he talks," observed Lola.

"That's what they all say," said Carrie, innocently.

"Why don't you see him," suggested Lola, "and hear what he has to say?"

"Indeed I won't," said Carrie. "I know what he'd say. I don't want tomeet anybody that way."

Lola looked at her with big, merry eyes.

"He couldn't hurt you," she returned. "You might have some fun withhim."

Carrie shook her head.

"You're awfully queer," returned the little, blue-eyed soldier.

Thus crowded fortune. For this whole week, though her large salary hadnot yet arrived, it was as if the world understood and trusted her.Without money--or the requisite sum, at least--she enjoyed the luxurieswhich money could buy. For her the doors of fine places seemed to openquite without the asking. These palatial chambers, how marvellously theycame to her. The elegant apartments of Mrs. Vance in the Chelsea--thesewere hers. Men sent flowers, love notes, offers of fortune. And stillher dreams ran riot. The one hundred and fifty! the one hundred andfifty! What a door to an Aladdin's cave it seemed to be. Each day, herhead almost turned by developments, her fancies of what her fortune mustbe, with ample money, grew and multiplied. She conceived of delightswhich were not--saw lights of joy that never were on land or sea. Then,at last, after a world of anticipation, came her first installment ofone hundred and fifty dollars.

It was paid to her in greenbacks--three twenties, six tens, and sixfives. Thus collected it made a very convenient roll. It was accompaniedby a smile and a salutation from the cashier who paid it.

"Ah, yes," said the latter, when she applied; "Miss Madenda--one hundredand fifty dollars. Quite a success the show seems to have made."

"Yes, indeed," returned Carrie.

Right after came one of the insignificant members of the company, andshe heard the changed tone of address.

"How much?" said the same cashier, sharply. One, such as she had onlyrecently been, was waiting for her modest salary. It took her back tothe few weeks in which she had collected--or rather had received--almostwith the air of a domestic, four-fifty per week from a lordly foreman ina shoe factory--a man who, in distributing the envelopes, had the mannerof a prince doling out favours to a servile group of petitioners. Sheknew that out in Chicago this very day the same factory chamber was fullof poor homely-clad girls working in long lines at clattering machines;that at noon they would eat a miserable lunch in a half-hour; thatSaturday they would gather, as they had when she was one of them, andaccept the small pay for work a hundred times harder than she was nowdoing. Oh, it was so easy now! The world was so rosy and bright. Shefelt so thrilled that she must needs walk back to the hotel to think,wondering what she should do.

It does not take money long to make plain its impotence, providing thedesires are in the realm of affection. With her one hundred and fifty inhand, Carrie could think of nothing particularly to do. In itself, as atangible, apparent thing which she could touch and look upon, it was adiverting thing for a few days, but this soon passed. Her hotel bill didnot require its use. Her clothes had for some time been whollysatisfactory. Another day or two and she would receive another hundredand fifty. It began to appear as if this were not so startlinglynecessary to maintain her present state. If she wanted to do anythingbetter or move higher she must have more--a great deal more.

Now a critic called to get up one of those tinsel interviews which shinewith clever observations, show up the wit of critics, display the follyof celebrities, and divert the public. He liked Carrie, and said so,publicly--adding, however, that she was merely pretty, good-natured, andlucky. This cut like a knife. The "Herald," getting up an entertainmentfor the benefit of its free ice fund, did her the honour to beg her toappear along with celebrities for nothing. She was visited by a youngauthor, who had a play which he thought she could produce. Alas, shecould not judge. It hurt her to think it. Then she found she must puther money in the bank for safety, and so moving, finally reached theplace where it struck her that the door to life's perfect enjoyment wasnot open.

Gradually she began to think it was because it was summer. Nothing wasgoing on much save such entertainments as the one in which she was star.Fifth Avenue was boarded up where the rich had deserted their mansions.Madison Avenue was little better. Broadway was full of loafing thespiansin search of next season engagements. The whole city was quiet and hernights were taken up with her work. Hence the feeling that there waslittle to do.

"I don't know," she said to Lola one day, sitting at one of the windowswhich looked down into Broadway, "I get lonely; don't you?"

"No," said Lola, "not very often. You won't go anywhere. That's what'sthe matter with you."

"Where can I go?"

"Why, there're lots of places," returned Lola, who was thinking of herown lightsome tourneys with the gay youths. "You won't go with anybody."

"I don't want to go with these people who write to me. I know what kindthey are."

"You oughtn't to be lonely," said Lola, thinking of Carrie's success."There're lots would give their ears to be in your shoes."

Carrie looked out again at the passing crowd.

"I don't know," she said.

Unconsciously her idle hands were beginning to weary.