There was the least quaver in her voice as she said this. Somehow, the influence he was exerting was powerful. They came to an understanding of each other without words--he of her situation, she of the fact that he realised it. "No," he said, "you can't make it!" genuine sympathy filling his mind for the time. "Let me help you. You take some of my money." "Oh, no!" she said, leaning back. "What are you going to do?" he said. She sat meditating, merely shaking her head. He looked at her quite tenderly for his kind. There were some loose bills in his vest pocket--greenbacks. They were soft and noiseless, and he got his fingers about them and crumpled them up in his hand. "Come on," he said, "I'll see you through all right. Get yourself some clothes." It was the first reference he had made to that subject, and now she realised how bad off she was. In his crude way he had struck the key-note. Her lips trembled a little. She had her hand out on the table before her. They were quite alone in their corner, and he put his larger, warmer hand over it. "Aw, come, Carrie," he said, "what can you do alone? Let me help you." He pressed her hand gently and she tried to withdraw it. At this he held it fast, and she no longer protested. Then he slipped the greenbacks he had into her palm, and when she began to protest, he whispered: "I'll loan it to you--that's all right. I'll loan it to you." He made her take it. She felt bound to him by a strange tie of affection now. They went out, and he walked with her far out south toward Polk Street, talking. "You don't want to live with those people?" he said in one place, abstractedly. Carrie heard it, but it made only a slight impression. "Come down and meet me to-morrow," he said, "and we'll go to the matinee. Will you?" Carrie protested a while, but acquiesced. "You're not doing anything. Get yourself a nice pair of shoes and a jacket." She scarcely gave a thought to the complication which would trouble her when he was gone. In his presence, she was of his own hopeful, easy-way-out mood. "Don't you bother about those people out there," he said at parting. "I'll help you." Carrie left him, feeling as though a great arm had slipped out before her to draw off trouble. The money she had accepted was two soft, green, handsome ten-dollar bills. CHAPTER VII THE LURE OF THE MATERIAL: BEAUTY SPEAKS FOR ITSELF