Заезды по воскресеньям с 16 июня по 18 августа 2013 года 8 страница

was her only companionship, and the gossip of the manager's wife formed

the medium, through which she saw the world. Such trivialities, such

praises of Wealth, such conventional expression of morals as sifted

through this passive creature's mind, fell upon Carrie and for the

while confused her.

 

On the other hand, her own feelings were a corrective influence. Their

constant drag to something better was not to be denied. By those things

which address the heart was she steadily recalled. In the apartments

across the hall were a young girl and her mother. They were from

Evansville, Indiana, the wife and daughter of a railroad treasurer. The

daughter was her to study music, the mother to keep her company.

 

Carrie did not make their acquaintance, but she saw the daughter coming

in and going out. A few times she had seen her a the piano in the

parlor, and not infrequently had heard her play. This young woman was

particularly dressy for her station, and wore a jeweled ring or two

which flashed upon her white fingers as she played.

 

Now Carrie was affected by music. her nervous composition responded to

certain strains, much as certain strings of a harp vibrate when a

corresponding key of a piano is struck. She was delicately molded in

sentiment and answered with vague ruminations to certain wistful

chords. They awoke longings for those things which she did not have.

They caused her cling closer to things she possessed. One shorts song

the young lady played in a most soulful and tender mood. Carrie heard

it through the open door from the parlor below, In was at that hour

between afternoon and night when, for the idle, the wanderer, things

are apt to take on a wistful aspect. The mind wanders forth on far

journeys and returns with sheaves of withered and departed joys. Carrie

sat at her window looking out. Drouet had been away since ten in the

morning. She had amused herself with a walk, a book by Bertha M. Clay

which Drouet had let there, though she did not wholly enjoy the latter,

and by changing her dress for the evening. Now she sat looking out

across the park as wistful and depressed as the nature which craves

variety and life can be under such circumstances. As she contemplated

her new state, the strain from the parlor below stole upward. Within

it her to the things which were best and saddest within the small

limit of her experience. She became for the moment a repentant.

 

While she was in this mood Drouet came in, bringing with him an

entirely different atmosphere. 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. Instead, he

struck a match and lighted the gas.

 

" Hello," he exclaimed," you've been crying."

 

her eyes were still wet with a few vague tears.

 

" Pshaw," he said, " you don't want to do that."

 

He took her hand, feeling in his good-natured egotism that it was

probably lack of his presence which had made her lonely.

 

" Come on, now," he went on; " it's all right. Let's waltz a little to

that music."

 

He could not have introduced a more incongruous proposition. It made

clear to Carrie that he could not sympathize with her. She could not

have framed thoughts which would have expressed his defect or make

clear the difference between them, but she felt it. It was his first

great mistake.

 

What Drouet said about the girl's grace, as she tripped Out evening

accompanied by her mother, caused Carrie To perceive the nature and

value of those little moodish Ways which women adopt when they would

presume to be Something. She looked in the mirror and pursed up her

Lips, accomplishing it with a little toss of the head, as the Had seen

the railroad treasurer's daughter do. She caught Up her skirts with an

easy swing, for had not, Drouet remarked that in her and several

others, and Carrie was Naturally imitative. She began to get the hang

of those Little things which the pretty women who has vanity invariably

adopts. In shorts, her knowledge of grace Doubled, and with her

appearance changed. She became a girl of considerable taste.

 

Drouet noticed this. He saw the new bow in her hair and the new way of

arraying her locks which she affected one morning.

 

" You look fine that way, Cad," he said.

 

" Do I?" she replied, sweetly. It made her try for other effects that

selfsame day.

 

She used her feet less heavily, a thing that was brought About by her

attempting to imitate the treasurer's daughter's graceful carriage. How

much influence the presence Of that young women in the same house had

upon her it Would be difficult to say. But, because of all these things

When Hurstwood called he had found a young women Who was much more

than the Carrie to whom Drouet had First spoken. The primary defects

of dress and manner Had passed. She was pretty, graceful, rich in the

timidity Born of uncertainty, and with a something childlike in her

Large eyes which captured the fancy of this starched and conventional

poser among men. It was the ancient attraction of the fresh for the

stale. If there was a touch of appreciation left in him for the bloom

and unsophistication which is the charm of youth, it rekindled now. He

looked into her pretty face and felt the subtle waves of young life

radiating therefrom. In that large clear eye he could see nothing that

his blasй nature could understand as guile. The little vanity, if he

could have perceived it there, would have touched him as a pleasant

thing.

 

" I wonder," he said as he rode away in his cab, " how Drouet came to

win her." He gave her credit for feelings superior to Drouet at The

first glance.

 

The cab plopped ailing along between the far-receding lines of gas

lamps on either hand. He folded his gloved hands and saw only the

lighted chamber and Carrie's face. He was pondering over the delight

of youthful beauty.

 

" I'll have a bouquet for her," he though. " Drouet won't mind."

 

He never for a moment concealed the fact of her attraction for himself.

He troubled himself not at all about Drouet's priority. He was merely

floating those gossamer threads of thought which, like the spider's he

Hoped would lay hold somewhere. He did not know, he could not guess,

what the result would be.

 

A few weeks later Drouet, in his peregrinations, encountered one of his

well-dressed lady acquaintances in Chicago on his return from a short

trip to Omaha. He Had intended to hurry out to Ogden Place and surprise

Carrie, but now he fell into an interesting conversation And soon

modified his original intention.

 

" Let's go to dinner," he said, little reckoning any chance meeting

which might trouble his way.

 

" Certainty," said his companion.

 

They visited one of the better restaurants for a social Chat. It was

five in the afternoon when they met; it was Seven thirty before the

last bone was picked.

 

Drouet was just finishing a little incident he was relating, and his

face was expanding into a smile, when Hurstwood's eye caught his own.

The latter had come in with several friends, and, seeing Drouet and

some woman, not Carrie, drew his own conclusion.

 

" Ah, the rascal," he though, and then, with a touch of righteous

sympathy, " that's pretty hard on the little girl."

 

Drouet jumped from one easy though to another as he caught Hurstwood's

eye. He felt but every little misgiving, until he saw that Hurstwood

was cautiously pretending not to see. Then some of the latter's

impression forced itself upon him. He though of Carrie and their last

meeting. By George, he would have to explain this to Hurstwood. Such a

chance half-hour with an old friend must not have anything more

attached to it really warranted.

 

For the first time he was troubled. Here was a moral Complication of

which he could not possibly get the ends. Hurstwood would laugh at him

for being a fickle boy. He would laugh with Hurstwood. 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."

 

He ought not to think I'm knocking around, since Have just introduced

him out there," though Drouet.

 

" I saw you," Hurstwood said, genially, the next time. Drouet drifted

in to his polished resort, from which he Could not stay away. He

raised his forefinger indicatively, as parents do to children.

 

" An old acquaintance of mine that I ran into just as was coming up

from the station," explained Drouet.

 

" She used to be quite a beauty."

 

" Still attracts a little, eh?" returned the other, affecting to jest.

 

" Oh, no," said Drouet, " just couldn't escape her this time."

 

" How long are you here?" asked Hurstwood.

 

" Only a few days."

 

" You must bring the girls down and take dinner with me," he said. "

I'm afraid you keep her cooped up out there. I'll get a box for Joe

Jefferson."

 

" Not me," answered the drummer. " Sure I'll come."

 

This pleased Hurstwood immensely. He gave Drouet no credit for any

feelings toward Carrie whatever. He Envied him, and now, as he looked

at the well-dressed salesman, whom he so much liked, the gleam of the

Rival glowed in his eye. He began to " size up" Drouet From the

standpoints of wit and fascination. He began to Look to see where he

was weak. There was no disputing that, whatever he might think of him

as a good fellow, he felt a certain amount of contempt for him as a

lover. He could hoodwink him all right. Why, if he would just Let

Carrie see one such little incident as that of Thursday, it would

settle the matter. He ran on it thought, almost exulting, the while he

laughed and chatted, and Drouet felt nothing. He had no power of

analyzing the glance and the atmosphere of a man like Hurstwood. He

stood and smiled and accepted the invitation while his friend examined

him with the eye of a hawk.

 

The object of this peculiarly involved comedy was not Thinking of

either. She was busy adjusting her thoughts And feelings to newer

conditions, and was not in danger of suffering disturbing pangs from

either quarter.

 

One evening Drouet found her dressing herself before That glass.

 

" Cad," said he, catching her, " I believe you're getting vain."

 

" Nothing of the kind," she returned, smiling.

 

" Well, you're mighty pretty," he went on, slipping his arm around her.

" Put on that navy-blue dress of yours and I'll take you to the show."

 

" Oh, I've promised Mrs. Hale to go with her to the Exposition to-

night," she returned, apologetically.

 

" You did, eh? He said, studying the situation abstractedly. " I

wouldn't care to go to that myself."

 

" Well, I don't know," answered Carrie, puzzling, but not offering to

break her promise in his favor.

 

Just then a knock came at their door and the maidservant handed a

letter in.

 

" He says there's an answer expected," she explained.

 

" It's from Hurstwood, " said Drouet, noting the superscription as he

tore it open.

 

" You are to come down and see Joe Jefferson with me to-night," it ran

it part. " It's my turn, as we agreed the other day. All other bets

are off." " Well, what do you say to this?" asked Drouet, innocently,

while Carrie's mind bubbled with favorable replies.

 

" You had better decided, Charlie," she said, reservedly.

 

" I guess we had better go, if you can break that engagement upstairs,"

said Drouet.

 

" Oh, I can," returned Carrie without thinking.

 

Drouet selected writing paper while Carrie went to change her dress.

She hardly explained to herself why this latest invitation appealed to

her most.

 

" Shall I wear my hair as I did yesterday?" she asked, as she came out

with several articles of apparel pending.

 

" Sure," he returned, pleasantly.

 

She was relieved to see that he felt nothing. She did Not credit her

willingness to go to any fascination Hurstwood Held for her. It seemed

that that combination of Hurstwood, Drouet, and herself was more

agreeable Than anything else that had been suggested. She arrayed

Herself most carefully and they started off, extending Excuses

upstairs.

 

" I say." Said Hurstwood as, they came up the theatre lobby, " we are

exceeding charming this evening." Carrie fluttered under his approving

glance.

 

" Now, then," he said, leading the way up the foyer into the theater.

 

If ever there was dressiness it was here. It was the personification of

the old term spick and span.

 

" Did you ever see Jefferson?" he questioned, as he leaned toward

Carrie in the box.

 

" I never did," she returned.

 

" He's delightful, delightful," he went on giving the commonplace

rendition of approval which such men know. He sent Drouet after a

program, and then discoursed to Carrie concerning Jefferson as he had

heard of him. The former was pleased beyond expression, and was really

hypnotized by the environment, the trappings of the box, the elegance

of her companion. Several times their eyes accidentally met, and then

there poured into hers such a flood of feeling as she had never before

experienced. She could not for the moment explain it, for in the next

glance or the next move of the hand there was seeming indifference,

mingled only with the kindest attention.

 

Drouet shared in the conversation, but he was almost Dull in

comparison. Hurstwood entertained them both, and now it was driven

into Carrie's mind that here was the superior man. She instinctively

felt that he was stronger and higher, and yet with a so simple. By the

end of the third act she was sure that Drouet was only a kindly soul,

but otherwise defective. He sank every moment in her estimation by the

strong comparison.

 

" I have had such a nice time," said Carrie, when it was all over and

they were coming out.

 

" Yes, indeed," added Drouet, who was not in the least aware that a

battle had been fought and his defenses weakened. He was like the

Emperor of China, who sat glorying in himself, unaware that his

fairest provinces were being wrested from him.

 

" Well, you have saved me a dreary evening," returned Hurstwood. "

Good-night."

 

He took Carrie's little hand, and a current of feeling Swept from one

to the other.

 

" I'm so tried," said Carrie, leaning back in the car when Drouet began

to talk.

 

" Well, you rest a little while I smoke," he said, rising and then he

foolishly went to the forward platform of the Car and left the game as

it stood

 

 

Chapter XII

 

OF THE LAMPS OF THE MANSIONS--THE AMBASSADOR PLEA

 

Mrs. Hurstwood was not aware of any of her husband's moral defections,

though she might readily have suspected his tendencies, which she well

understood. She was a woman upon whose action under provocation you

could never count. Hurstwood, for one, had not the slightest idea of

what she would do under certain circumstances. He had never seen her

thoroughly aroused. In fact, she was not a woman who would fly into a

passion. She had too little faith in mankind not to know that they

were erring. She was too calculating to jeopardize any advantage she

might gain in the way of information by fruitless clamor. Her wrath

would never wreak itself in one fell blow. She would wait and brood,

studying the details and adding to them until her power might be

commensurate with her desire for revenge. At the same time, she would

not delay to inflict any injury, big or little, which would wound the

object of her revenge and still leave him uncertain as to the source of

the evil. She was a cold, self-centered woman, with many a thought of

her own which never found expression, not even by so much as the glint

of an eye.

 

Hurstwood felt some of this in her nature, though he did not actually

perceive it. He dwelt with her in peace and some satisfaction. He did

not fear her in the least--there was no cause for it. She still took a

faint pride in him, which was augmented by her desire to have her

social integrity maintained. She was secretly somewhat pleased by the

fact that much of her husband's property was in her name, a precaution

which Hurstwood had taken when his home interests were somewhat more

alluring than at present. His wife had not the slightest reason to

feel that anything would ever go amiss with their household, and yet

the shadows which run before gave her a thought of the good of it now

and then. She was in a position to become refractory with considerable

advantage, and Hurstwood conducted himself circumspectly because he

felt that he could not be sure of anything once she became

dissatisfied.

 

It so happened that on the night when Hurstwood, Carrie, and Drouet

were in the box at McVickar's, George, Jr., was in the sixth row of the

parquet with the daughter of H. B. Carmichael, the third partner of a

wholesale dry-goods house of that city. Hurstwood did not see his son,

for he sat, as was his wont, as far back as possible, leaving himself

just partially visible, when he bent forward, to those within the first

six rows in question. It was his wont to sit this way in every

theatre--to make his personality as inconspicuous as possible where it

would be no advantage to him to have it otherwise.

 

He never moved but what, if there was any danger of his conduct being

misconstrued or ill-reported, he looked carefully about him and counted

the cost of every inch of conspicuity.

 

The next morning at breakfast his son said:

 

"I saw you, Governor, last night."

 

"Were you at McVickar's?" said Hurstwood, with the best grace in the

world.

 

"Yes," said young George.

 

"Who with?"

 

"Miss Carmichael."

 

Mrs. Hurstwood directed an inquiring glance at her husband, but could

not judge from his appearance whether it was any more than a casual

look into the theatre which was referred to.

 

"How was the play?" she inquired.

 

"Very good," returned Hurstwood, "only it's the same old thing, 'Rip

Van Winkle.'"

 

"Whom did you go with?" queried his wife, with assumed indifference.

 

"Charlie Drouet and his wife. They are friends of Moy's, visiting

here."

 

Owing to the peculiar nature of his position, such a disclosure as this

would ordinarily create no difficulty. His wife took it for granted

that his situation called for certain social movements in which she

might not be included. But of late he had pleaded office duty on

several occasions when his wife asked for his company to any evening

entertainment. He had done so in regard to the very evening in

question only the morning before.

 

"I thought you were going to be busy," she remarked, very carefully.

 

"So I was," he exclaimed. "I couldn't help the interruption, but I

made up for it afterward by working until two."

 

This settled the discussion for the time being, but there was a residue

of opinion which was not satisfactory. There was no time at which the

claims of his wife could have been more unsatisfactorily pushed. For

years he had been steadily modifying his matrimonial devotion, and

found her company dull. Now that a new light shone upon the horizon,

this older luminary paled in the west. He was satisfied to turn his

face away entirely, and any call to look back was irksome.

 

She, on the contrary, was not at all inclined to accept anything less

than a complete fulfillment of the letter of their relationship, though

the spirit might be wanting.

 

"We are coming down town this afternoon," she remarked, a few days

later. "I want you to come over to Kinsley's and meet Mr. Phillips and

his wife. They're stopping at the Tremont, and we're going to show

them around a little."

 

After the occurrence of Wednesday, he could not refuse, though the

Phillips were about as uninteresting as vanity and ignorance could make

them. He agreed, but it was with short grace. He was angry when he

left the house.

 

"I'll put a stop to this," he thought. "I'm not going to be bothered

fooling around with visitors when I have work to do."

 

Not long after this Mrs. Hurstwood came with a similar proposition,

only it was to a matinee this time.

 

"My dear," he returned, "I haven't time. I'm too busy."

 

"You find time to go with other people, though," she replied, with

considerable irritation.

 

"Nothing of the kind," he answered. "I can't avoid business relations,

and that's all there is to it."

 

"Well, never mind," she exclaimed. Her lips tightened. The feeling of

mutual antagonism was increased.

 

On the other hand, his interest in Drouet's little shop-girl grew in an

almost evenly balanced proportion. That young lady, under the stress

of her situation and the tutelage of her new friend, changed

effectively. She had the aptitude of the struggler who seeks

emancipation. The glow of a more showy life was not lost upon her.

She did not grow in knowledge so much as she awakened in the matter of

desire. Mrs. Hale's extended harangues upon the subjects of wealth and

position taught her to distinguish between degrees of wealth. Mrs. Hale

loved to drive in the afternoon in the sun when it was fine, and to

satisfy her soul with a sight of those mansions and lawns which she

could not afford. On the North Side had been erected a number of

elegant mansions along what is now known as the North Shore Drive. The

present lake wall of stone and granite was not then in place, but the

road had been well laid out, the intermediate spaces of lawn were

lovely to look upon, and the houses were thoroughly new and imposing.

When the winter season had passed and the first fine days of the early

spring appeared, Mrs. Hale secured a buggy for an afternoon and invited

Carrie. They rode first through Lincoln Park and on far out towards

Evanston, turning back at four and arriving at the north end of the

Shore Drive at about five o'clock. At this time of year the days are

still comparatively short, and the shadows of the evening were

beginning to settle down upon the great city. Lamps were beginning to

burn with that mellow radiance which seems almost watery and

translucent to the eye. There was a softness in the air which speaks

with an infinite delicacy of feeling to the flesh as well as to the

soul. Carrie felt that it was a lovely day. She was ripened by it in

spirit for many suggestions. As they drove along the smooth pavement

an occasional carriage passed. She saw one stop and the footman

dismount, opening the door for a gentleman who seemed to be leisurely

returning from some afternoon pleasure. Across the broad lawns, now

first freshening into green, she saw lamps faintly glowing upon rich

interiors. Now it was but a chair, now a table, now an ornate corner,

which met her eye, but it appealed to her as almost nothing else could.

Such childish fancies as she had had of fairy palaces and kingly

quarters now came back. She imagined that across these richly carved

entrance-ways, where the globed and crystalled lamps shone upon paneled

doors set with stained and designed panes of glass, was neither care

nor unsatisfied desire. She was perfectly certain that here was

happiness. If she could but stroll up yon broad walk, cross that rich

entrance-way, which to her was of the beauty of a jewel, and sweep in

grace and luxury to possession and command--oh! how quickly would

sadness flee; how, in an instant, would the heartache end. She gazed

and gazed, wondering, delighting, longing, and all the while the siren

voice of the unrestful was whispering in her ear.

 

"If we could have such a home as that," said Mrs. Hale sadly, "how

delightful it would be."

 

"And yet they do say," said Carrie, "that no one is ever happy."

 

She had heard so much of the canting philosophy of the grapeless fox.

 

"I notice," said Mrs. Hale, "that they all try mighty hard, though, to

take their misery in a mansion."

 

When she came to her own rooms, Carrie saw their comparative

insignificance. She was not so dull but that she could perceive they

were but three small rooms in a moderately well-furnished boarding-

house. She was not contrasting it now with what she had had, but what

she had so recently seen. The glow of the palatial doors was still in

her eye, the roll of cushioned carriages still in her ears. What,

after all, was Drouet? What was she? At her window, she thought it