"Well, that's a fine finish," said Drouet. "Pack up and pull out, eh? You take the cake. I bet you were knocking around with Hurstwood or you wouldn't act like that. I don't want the old rooms. You needn't pull out for me. You can have them for all I care, but b'George, you haven't done me right." "I'll not live with you," said Carrie. "I don't want to live with you. You've done nothing but brag around ever since you've been here." "Aw, I haven't anything of the kind," he answered. Carrie walked over to the door. "Where are you going?" he said, stepping over and heading her off. "Let me out," she said. "Where are you going?" he repeated. He was, above all, sympathetic, and the sight of Carrie wandering out, he knew not where, affected him, despite his grievance. Carrie merely pulled at the door. The strain of the situation was too much for her, however. She made one more vain effort and then burst into tears. "Now, be reasonable, Cad," said Drouet gently. "What do you want to rush out for this way? You haven't any place to go. Why not stay here now and be quiet? I'll not bother you. I don't want to stay here any longer." Carrie had gone sobbing from the door to the window. She was so overcome she could not speak. "Be reasonable now," he said. "I don't want to hold you. You can go if you want to, but why don't you think it over? Lord knows, I don't want to stop you." He received no answer. Carrie was quieting, however, under the influence of his plea. "You stay here now, and I'll go," he added at last. Carrie listened to this with mingled feelings. Her mind was shaken loose from the little mooring of logic that it had. She was stirred by this thought, angered by that--her own injustice, Hurstwood's, Drouet's, their respective qualities of kindness and favour, the threat of the world outside, in which she had failed once before, the impossibility of this state inside, where the chambers were no longer justly hers, the effect of the argument upon her nerves, all combined to make her a mass of jangling fibres--an anchorless, storm-beaten little craft which could do absolutely nothing but drift. "Say," said Drouet, coming over to her after a few moments, with a new idea, and putting his hand upon her. "Don't!" said Carrie, drawing away, but not removing her handkerchief from her eyes. "Never mind about this quarrel now. Let it go. You stay here until the month's out, anyhow, and then you can tell better what you want to do. Eh?" Carrie made no answer. "You'd better do that," he said. "There's no use your packing up now. You can't go anywhere." Still he got nothing for his words. "If you'll do that, we'll call it off for the present and I'll get out." Carrie lowered her handkerchief slightly and looked out of the window. "Will you do that?" he asked. Still no answer. "Will you?" he repeated. She only looked vaguely into the street. "Aw! come on," he said, "tell me. Will you?"