"So he did," answered Carrie, who was wholly unaware of what conversation her lovers might have held. She was all at sea mentally, and fearful of some entanglement which might ensue from what she would answer. "Oh, then he called twice?" said Drouet, the first shade of misunderstanding showing in his face. "Yes," said Carrie innocently, feeling now that Hurstwood must have mentioned but one call. Drouet imagined that he must have misunderstood his friend. He did not attach particular importance to the information, after all. "What did he have to say?" he queried, with slightly increased curiosity. "He said he came because he thought I might be lonely. You hadn't been in there so long he wondered what had become of you." "George is a fine fellow," said Drouet, rather gratified by his conception of the manager's interest. "Come on and we'll go out to dinner." When Hurstwood saw that Drouet was back he wrote at once to Carrie, saying: "I told him I called on you, dearest, when he was away. I did not say how often, but he probably thought once. Let me know of anything you may have said. Answer by special messenger when you get this, and, darling, I must see you. Let me know if you can't meet me at Jackson and Throop Streets Wednesday afternoon at two o'clock. I want to speak with you before we meet at the theatre." Carrie received this Tuesday morning when she called at the West Side branch of the post-office, and answered at once. "I said you called twice," she wrote. "He didn't seem to mind. I will try and be at Throop Street if nothing interferes. I seem to be getting very bad. It's wrong to act as I do, I know." Hurstwood, when he met her as agreed, reassured her on this score. "You mustn't worry, sweetheart," he said. "Just as soon as he goes on the road again we will arrange something. We'll fix it so that you won't have to deceive any one." Carrie imagined that he would marry her at once, though he had not directly said so, and her spirits rose. She proposed to make the best of the situation until Drouet left again. "Don't show any more interest in me than you ever have," Hurstwood counselled concerning the evening at the theatre. "You mustn't look at me steadily then," she answered, mindful of the power of his eyes. "I won't," he said, squeezing her hand at parting and giving the glance she had just cautioned against. "There," she said playfully, pointing a finger at him. "The show hasn't begun yet," he returned. He watched her walk from him with tender solicitation. Such youth and prettiness reacted upon him more subtly than wine. At the theatre things passed as they had in Hurstwood's favour. If he had been pleasing to Carrie before, how much more so was he now. His grace was more permeating because it found a readier medium. Carrie watched his every movement with pleasure. She almost forgot poor Drouet, who babbled on as if he were the host.