a
shade of a thought of the hour entered Carrie's head, but there was no
household law to govern her now. If any habits ever had time to fix upon
her, they would have operated here. Habits are peculiar things. They
will drive the really non-religious mind out of bed to say prayers that
are only a custom and not a devotion. The victim of habit, when he
has neglected the thing which it was his custom to do, feels a little
scratching in the brain, a little irritating something which comes of
being out of the rut, and imagines it to be the prick of conscience,
the still, small voice that is urging him ever to righteousness. If the
digression is unusual enough, the drag of habit will be heavy enough
to cause the unreasoning victim to return and perform the perfunctory
thing. "Now, bless me," says such a mind, "I have done my duty," when,
as a matter of fact, it has merely done its old, unbreakable trick once
again.

Carrie had no excellent home principles fixed upon her. If she had, she
would have been more consciously distressed. Now the lunch went off with
considerable warmth. Under the influence of the varied occurrences, the
fine, invisible passion which was emanating from Drouet, the food, the
still unusual luxury, she relaxed and heard with open ears. She was
again the victim of the city's hypnotic influence.

"Well," said Drouet at last, "we had better be going."

They had been dawdling over the dishes, and their eyes had frequently
met. Carrie could not help but feel the vibration of force which
followed, which, indeed, was his gaze. He had a way of touching her hand
in explanation, as if to impress a fact upon her. He touched it now as
he spoke of going.

They arose and went out into the street. The downtown section was now
bare, save for a few whistling strollers, a few owl cars, a few
open resorts whose windows were still bright. Out Wabash Avenue they
strolled, Drouet still pouring forth his volume of small information. He
had Carrie's arm in his, and held it closely as he explained. Once in a
while, after some witticism, he would look down, and his eyes would meet
hers. At last they came to the steps, and Carrie stood up on the first
one, her head now coming even with his own. He took her hand and held it
genially. He looked steadily at her as she glanced about, warmly musing.

At about that hour, Minnie was soundly sleeping, after a long evening
of troubled thought. She had her elbow in an awkward position