Now she paused at each individual bit of finery, where before she had hurried on.
Her woman’s heart was warm with desire for them.
How would she look in this, how charming that would make her!
She came upon the corset counter and paused in rich reverie as she noted the dainty concoctions of colour and lace there displayed.
If she would only make up her mind, she could have one of those now.
She lingered in the jewelry department. She saw the earrings, the bracelets, the pins, the chains.
What would she not have given if she could have had them all!
She would look fine too, if only she had some of these things.
The jackets were the greatest attraction.
When she entered the store, she already had her heart fixed upon the peculiar little tan jacket with large mother-of-pearl buttons which was all the rage that fall.
Still she delighted to convince herself that there was nothing she would like better.
She went about among the glass cases and racks where these things were displayed, and satisfied herself that the one she thought of was the proper one.
All the time she wavered in mind, now persuading herself that she could buy it right away if she chose, now recalling to herself the actual condition.
At last the noon hour was dangerously near, and she had done nothing.
She must go now and return the money.
Drouet was on the corner when she came up.
“Hello,” he said, “where is the jacket and” — looking down — “the shoes?”
Carrie had thought to lead up to her decision in some intelligent way, but this swept the whole fore-schemed situation by the board.
“I came to tell you that — that I can’t take the money.”
“Oh, that’s it, is it?” he returned.
“Well, you come on with me.
Let’s go over here to Partridge’s.”
Carrie walked with him. Behold, the whole fabric of doubt and impossibility had slipped from her mind.
She could not get at the points that were so serious, the things she was going to make plain to him.
“Have you had lunch yet?
Of course you haven’t.
Let’s go in here,” and Drouet turned into one of the very nicely furnished restaurants off State Street, in Monroe.
“I mustn’t take the money,” said Carrie, after they were settled in a cosey corner, and Drouet had ordered the lunch.
“I can’t wear those things out there.
They — they wouldn’t know where I got them.”
“What do you want to do,” he smiled, “go without them?”
“I think I’ll go home,” she said, wearily.
“Oh, come,” he said, “you’ve been thinking it over too long.
I’ll tell you what you do.
You say you can’t wear them out there.
Why don’t you rent a furnished room and leave them in that for a week?”
Carrie shook her head.
Like all women, she was there to object and be convinced.
It was for him to brush the doubts away and clear the path if he could.
“Why are you going home?” he asked.
“Oh, I can’t get anything here.”
They won’t keep you?” he remarked, intuitively.
“They can’t,” said Carrie.
“I’ll tell you what you do,” he said.
“You come with me.
I’ll take care of you.”
Carrie heard this passively.
The peculiar state which she was in made it sound like the welcome breath of an open door.
Drouet seemed of her own spirit and pleasing.
He was clean, handsome, well-dressed, and sympathetic.