turning into a store.

When Carrie returned home, there was Hurstwood, reading as usual. He
seemed to take his condition with the utmost nonchalance. His beard was
at least four days old.

"Oh," thought Carrie, "if she were to come here and see him?"

She shook her head in absolute misery. It looked as if her situation was
becoming unbearable.

Driven to desperation, she asked at dinner:

"Did you ever hear any more from that wholesale house?"

"No," he said. "They don't want an inexperienced man."

Carrie dropped the subject, feeling unable to say more.

"I met Mrs. Vance this afternoon," she said, after a time.

"Did, eh?" he answered.

"They're back in New York now," Carrie went on. "She did look so nice."

"Well, she can afford it as long as he puts up for it," returned
Hurstwood. "He's got a soft job."

Hurstwood was looking into the paper. 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."

"She's too gay," said Hurstwood, significantly. "No one can keep up with
her pace unless they've got a lot of money."

"Mr. Vance doesn't seem to find it very hard."

"He may not now," answered Hurstwood, doggedly, well understanding the
inference; "but his life isn't done yet. You can't tell what'll happen.
He may get down like anybody else."

There was something quite knavish in the man's attitude. His eye seemed
to be cocked with a twinkle upon the fortunate, expecting their defeat.
His own state seemed a thing apart--not considered.

This thing was the remains of his old-time cocksureness and
independence. Sitting in his flat, and reading of the doings of other
people, sometimes this independent, undefeated mood came upon him.
Forgetting the weariness of the streets and the degradation of search,
he would sometimes prick up his ears. It was as if he said:

"I can do something. I'm not down yet. There's a lot of things coming to
me if I want to go after them."

It was in this mood that he would occasionally dress up, go for a shave,
and, putting on his gloves, sally forth quite actively. Not with any
definite aim. It was more a barometric condition. He felt just right for
b