“To be sure,” replied Orrin, gaily.
Carrie thought of Hurstwood.
Never before had she neglected dinner without an excuse.
They drove back, and at 6.15 sat down to dine.
It was the Sherry incident over again, the remembrance of which came painfully back to Carrie.
She remembered Mrs. Vance, who had never called again after Hurstwood’s reception, and Ames. At this figure her mind halted. It was a strong, clean vision.
He liked better books than she read, better people than she associated with.
His ideals 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 merry companion.
“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 it came 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 to excuse me.”
The youth looked exceedingly crestfallen.
“Cheer up, old man,” whispered his companion.
“We’ll go around, anyhow. She may change her mind.”
Chapter XL
A Public Dissension — A Final Appeal
There was no after-theatre lark, however, so far as Carrie was concerned.
She made her way homeward, thinking about her absence.
Hurstwood was asleep, but roused up to look as she passed through to her own bed.
“Is that you?” he said.
“Yes,” she answered.
The next morning at breakfast she felt like apologising.
“I couldn’t get home last evening,” she said.
“Ah, Carrie,” he answered, “what’s the use saying that?
I don’t care.
You needn’t tell me that, though.”
“I couldn’t,” said Carrie, her colour rising.
Then, seeing that he looked as if he said
“I know,” she exclaimed:
“Oh, all right.
I don’t care.”
From now on, her indifference to the flat was even greater.
There seemed no common ground on which they could talk to one another.
She let herself be asked for expenses. It became so with him that he hated to do it.
He preferred standing off the butcher and baker. He ran up a grocery bill of sixteen dollars with Oeslogge, laying in a supply of staple articles, so that they would not have to buy any of those things for some time to come.
Then he changed his grocery. It was the same with the butcher and several others.
Carrie never heard anything of this directly from him.
He asked for such as he could expect, drifting farther and farther into a situation which could have but one ending.
In this fashion, September went by.
“Isn’t Mr. Drake going to open his hotel?” Carrie asked several times.