Chicago (Ill.) -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Mistresses -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
The real bitterness of this thing was added when Mrs. Vance did call. It
was on one of her shopping rounds. Making her way up the commonplace
hall, she knocked at Carrie's door. To her subsequent and agonising
distress, Carrie was out. Hurstwood opened the door, half-thinking that
the knock was Carrie's. For once, he was taken honestly aback. The lost
voice of youth and pride spoke in him.
"Why," he said, actually stammering, "how do you do?"
"How do you do?" said Mrs. Vance, who could scarcely believe her eyes.
His great confusion she instantly perceived. He did not know whether to
invite her in or not.
"Is your wife at home?" she inquired.
"No," he said, "Carrie's out; but won't you step in? She'll be back
shortly."
"No-o," said Mrs. Vance, realising the change of it all. "I'm really
very much in a hurry. I thought I'd just run up and look in, but I
couldn't stay. Just tell your wife she must come and see me."
"I will," said Hurstwood, standing back, and feeling intense relief at
her going. He was so ashamed that he folded his hands weakly, as he sat
in the chair afterwards, and thought.
Carrie, coming in from another direction, thought she saw Mrs. Vance
going away. She strained her eyes, but could not make sure.
"Was anybody here just now?" she asked of Hurstwood.
"Yes," he said guiltily; "Mrs. Vance."
"Did she see you?" she asked, expressing her full despair.
This cut Hurstwood like a whip, and made him sullen.
"If she had eyes, she did. I opened the door."
"Oh," said Carrie, closing one hand tightly out of sheer nervousness.
"What did she have to say?"
"Nothing," he answered. "She couldn't stay."
"And you looking like that!" said Carrie, throwing aside a long reserve.
"What of it?" he said, angering. "I didn't know she was coming, did I?"
"You knew she might," said Carrie. "I told you she said she was coming.
I've asked you a dozen times to wear your other clothes. Oh, I think
this is just terrible."
"Oh, let up," he answered. "What difference does it make? You couldn't
associate with her, anyway. They've got too much money."
"Who said I wanted to?" said Carrie, fiercely.
"Well, you act like it, rowing around over my looks. You'd think I'd
committed----"
Carrie interrupted:
"It's true," she said. "I couldn't if I wanted to, but whose fault is
it? You're very free to sit and talk about who I could associate with.
Why don't you get out and look for work?"
This was a thunderbolt in camp.
"What's it to you?" he said, rising, almost fiercely. "I pay the rent,
don't I? I furnish the----"
"Yes, you pay the rent," said Carrie. "You talk as if there was nothing
else in the world but a flat to sit around in. You haven't done a thing
for three months except sit around and interfere here. I'd like to know
what you married me for?"
"I didn't marry you," he said, in a snarling tone.
"I'd like to know what you did, then, in Montreal?" she answered.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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