Meanwhile, he took such time as he could to look about, but opportunities were not numerous. More, he had not the same impressive personality which he had when he first came to New York. Bad thoughts had put a shade into his eyes which did not impress others favourably. Neither had he thirteen hundred dollars in hand to talk with. About a month later, finding that he had not made any progress, Shaughnessy reported definitely that Slawson would not extend the lease. "I guess this thing's got to come to an end," he said, affecting an air of concern. "Well, if it has, it has," answered Hurstwood, grimly. He would not give the other a key to his opinions, whatever they were. He should not have the satisfaction. A day or two later he saw that he must say something to Carrie. "You know," he said, "I think I'm going to get the worst of my deal down there." "How is that?" asked Carrie in astonishment. "Well, the man who owns the ground has sold it, and the new owner won't re-lease it to us. The business may come to an end." "Can't you start somewhere else?" "There doesn't seem to be any place. Shaughnessy doesn't want to." "Do you lose what you put in?" "Yes," said Hurstwood, whose face was a study. "Oh, isn't that too bad?" said Carrie. "It's a trick," said Hurstwood. "That's all. They'll start another place there all right." Carrie looked at him, and gathered from his whole demeanour what it meant. It was serious, very serious. "Do you think you can get something else?" she ventured, timidly. Hurstwood thought a while. It was all up with the bluff about money and investment. She could see now that he was "broke." "I don't know," he said solemnly; "I can try." CHAPTER XXXIV THE GRIND OF THE MILLSTONES: A SAMPLE OF CHAFF Carrie pondered over this situation as consistently as Hurstwood, once she got the facts adjusted in her mind. It took several days for her to fully realise that the approach of the dissolution of her husband's business meant commonplace struggle and privation. Her mind went back to her early venture in Chicago, the Hansons and their flat, and her heart revolted. That was terrible! Everything about poverty was terrible. She wished she knew a way out. Her recent experiences with the Vances had wholly unfitted her to view her own state with complacence. The glamour of the high life of the city had, in the few experiences afforded her by the former, seized her completely. She had been taught how to dress and where to go without having ample means to do either. Now, these things--ever-present realities as they were--filled her eyes and mind. The more circumscribed became her state, the more entrancing seemed this other. And now poverty threatened to seize her entirely and to remove this other world far upward like a heaven to which any Lazarus might extend, appealingly, his hands.