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. His voice was the voice of a friend.

"What can you do back at Columbia City?" he went on, rousing by the
words in Carrie's mind a picture of the dull world she had left. "There
isn't anything down there. Chicago's the place. You can get a nice room
here and some clothes, and then you can do so