"It's all I have with me."

"All right," he answered, softly. "I'll give it back to you some day."

Carrie looked at him, while pedestrians stared at her. She felt the
strain of publicity. So did Hurstwood.

"Why don't you tell me what's the matter with you?" she asked, hardly
knowing what to do. "Where are you living?"

"Oh, I've got a room down in the Bowery," he answered. "There's no use
trying to tell you here. I'm all right now."

He seemed in a way to resent her kindly inquiries--so much better had
fate dealt with her.

"Better go on in," he said. "I'm much obliged, but I won't bother you
any more."

She tried to answer, but he turned away and shuffled off toward the
east.

For days this apparition was a drag on her soul before it began to wear
partially away. Drouet called again, but now he was not even seen by
her. His attentions seemed out of place.

"I'm out," was her reply to the boy.

So peculiar, indeed, was her lonely, self-withdrawing temper, that she
was becoming an interesting figure in the public eye--she was so quiet
and reserved.

Not long after the management decided to transfer the show to London. A
second summer season did not seem to promise well here.

"How would you like to try subduing London?" asked her manager, one
afternoon.

"It might be just the other way," said Carrie.

"I think we'll go in June," he answered.

In the hurry of departure, Hurstwood was forgotten. Both he and Drouet
were left to discover that she was gone. The latter called once, and
exclaimed at the news. Then he stood in the lobby, chewing the ends of
his moustache. At last he reached a conclusion--the old days had gone
for good.

"She isn't so much," he said; but in his heart of hearts he did not
believe this.

Hurstwood shifted by curious means through a long summer and fall. A
small job as janitor of a dance hall helped him for a month. Begging,
sometimes going hungry, sometimes sleeping in the park, carried him over
more days. Resorting to those peculiar charities, several of which, in
the press of hungry search, he accidentally stumbled upon, did the rest.
Toward the dead of winter, Carrie came back, appearing on Broadway in
a new play; but he was not aware of it. For weeks he wandered about the
city, begging, while the fire sign, announcing her engagement, blazed
nightly upon the crowded street of amusements. Drouet saw it, but did
not venture in.

About this time Ames returned to New York