possibly
they would like to have her.

When she arrived at the house at the end of the day, weary and
disheartened, she discovered that Drouet had been there. His umbrella
and light overcoat were gone. She thought she missed other things, but
could not be sure. Everything had not been taken.

So his going was crystallising into staying. What was she to do now?
Evidently she would be facing the world in the same old way within a day
or two. Her clothes would get poor. She put her two hands together
in her customary expressive way and pressed her fingers. Large tears
gathered in her eyes and broke hot across her cheeks. She was alone,
very much alone.

Drouet really had called, but it was with a very different mind from
that which Carrie had imagined. He expected to find her, to justify
his return by claiming that he came to get the remaining portion of his
wardrobe, and before he got away again to patch up a peace.

Accordingly, when he arrived, he was disappointed to find Carrie out.
He trifled about, hoping that she was somewhere in the neighbourhood and
would soon return. He constantly listened, expecting to hear her foot on
the stair.

When he did so, it was his intention to make believe that he had just
come in and was disturbed at being caught. Then he would explain his
need of his clothes and find out how things stood.

Wait as he did, however, Carrie did not come. From pottering around
among the drawers, in momentary expectation of her arrival he changed
to looking out of the window, and from that to resting himself in the
rocking-chair. Still no Carrie. He began to grow restless and lit a
cigar. After that he walked the floor. Then he looked out of the window
and saw clouds gathering. He remembered an appointment at three. He
began to think that it would be useless to wait, and got hold of his
umbrella and light coat, intending to take these things, any way. It
would scare her, he hoped. To-morrow he would come back for the others.
He would find out how things stood.

As he started to go he felt truly sorry that he had missed her. There
was a little picture of her on the wall, showing her arrayed in the
little jacket he had first bought her--her face a little more wistful
than he had seen it lately. He was really touched by it, and looked into
the eyes of it with a rather rare feeling for him.

"You didn't do me right, Cad," he said, as if he were addressing her in
the flesh.

Then he went to the do