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The man who was sorting his papers at the table, turned an attentive eye and ear toward the children. But neither Bobaday nor Corinne considered that he broke up the family privacy. They scarcely noticed him. "Grandma," murmured Carrie vaguely, turning her eyes toward their guardian by the window. "Yes, that's Grandma," said Bobaday. "But don't you know where your own pa and ma are?"
"And I'm sure I don't know where you live," Neale hastened to say. "It's very kind of you " "Then you'll come?" cried Carrie, confidently. "We live out of town on the Buckshot Road. Anybody will tell you." "I suppose the Kenway girls will know," said Neale, doubtfully. "I can go along with them." Carrie was a girl who thought quickly.
He made the hansom stop, rushed into Peter Robinson's, bought a dress-length of pink-and-white cotton, a blue sash for Carrie, and a fichu of Indian muslin and lace. Thrusting his hand into his pocket for money, he found only a sovereign pretty nearly his last! and some silver.
Carrie would never Hear, his present companion at table would never know And yet he could not help feeling that he was getting the was not guilty. He broke up the dinner by becoming dull, and saw his companion on her car. Then he went home. " He hasn't talked to me about any of these later flames," though Hurstwood to himself. " He thinks he cares for the girl out there."
It was dusk and Carrie had neglected to light the lamp. The fire in the grate, too, had burned low. "Where are you, Cad?" he said, using a pet name he had given her. "Here," she answered. There was something delicate and lonely in her voice, but he could not hear it. He had not the poetry in him that would seek a woman out under such circumstances and console her for the tragedy of life.
As the rest seemed to be similarly inclined, Carrie arose, and erelong the joyous shouts reached 'Lena, making her half wish that she, too, was there. Remembering Anna's suggestion of looking through the glass door she stole softly down the stairs, and stationing herself behind the door, looked in on the scene. Mr.
He could not see the look of infinite weariness and discontent Carrie gave him. "She said she thought she'd call here some day." "She's been long getting round to it, hasn't she?" said Hurstwood, with a kind of sarcasm. The woman didn't appeal to him from her spending side. "Oh, I don't know," said Carrie, angered by the man's attitude. "Perhaps I didn't want her to come."
Now he was off, however, and it was back to pathos, with Carrie as the chief figure. She did not recover. She wandered through the whole scene between herself and the intruding villain, straining the patience of the audience, and finally exiting, much to their relief. "She's too nervous," said Drouet, feeling in the mildness of the remark that he was lying for once.
Not only did Carrie feel the drag of desire for all which was new and pleasing in apparel for women, but she noticed too, with a touch at the heart, the fine ladies who elbowed and ignored her, brushing past in utter disregard of her presence, themselves eagerly enlisted in the materials which the store contained.
If that ain't a little woman for you! Mad? Why, just your doing that little thing with me raises your stock fifty per cent." "I'm that way." "We're a lot alike, Carrie. For five years I've been living in this hotel because it's the best I can do under the circumstances. But at heart I'm a home man, Carrie, and unless I'm pretty much off my guess, you are, too I mean a home woman. Right?"
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