a sigh.
"There's no use crying over spilt milk," she said. "It's too late."

"Of course it is," said the youth, who saw visions of a fine dinner now,
and such invigorating talk as would result in a reunion after the show.
He was greatly taken with Carrie. "We'll drive down to Delmonico's now
and have something there, won't we, Orrin?"

"To be sure," replied Orrin, gaily.

Carrie thought of Hurstwood. Never before had she neglected dinner
without an excuse.

They drove back, and at 6.15 sat down to dine. It was the Sherry
incident over again, the remembrance of which came painfully back to
Carrie. She remembered Mrs. Vance, who had never called again after
Hurstwood's reception, and Ames.

At this figure her mind halted. It was a strong, clean vision. He liked
better books than she read, better people than she associated with. His
ideals burned in her heart.

"It's fine to be a good actress," came distinctly back.

What sort of an actress was she?

"What are you thinking about, Miss Madenda?" inquired her merry
companion. "Come, now, let's see if I can guess."

"Oh, no," said Carrie. "Don't try."

She shook it off and ate. She forgot, in part, and was merry. When it
came to the after-theatre proposition, however, she shook her head.

"No," she said, "I can't. I have a previous engagement."

"Oh, now, Miss Madenda," pleaded the youth.

"No," said Carrie, "I can't. You've been so kind, but you'll have to
excuse me."

The youth looked exceedingly crestfallen.

"Cheer up, old man," whispered his companion. "We'll go around, anyhow.
She may change her mind."

Chapter XL. A PUBLIC DISSENSION--A FINAL APPEAL

There was no after-theatre lark, however, so far as Carrie was
concerned. She made her way homeward, thinking about her absence.
Hurstwood was asleep, but roused up to look as she passed through to her
own bed.

"Is that you?" he said.

"Yes," she answered.

The next morning at breakfast she felt like apologising.

"I couldn't get home last evening," she said.

"Ah, Carrie," he answered, "what's the use saying that? I don't care.
You needn't tell me that, though."

"I couldn't," said Carrie, her colour rising. Then, seeing that he
looked as if he said "I know," she exclaimed: "Oh, all right. I don't
care."

From now on, her indifference to the flat was even greater. There
seemed no common ground on which they could talk to one another. She let
herself be asked for expenses. It became