Chicago (Ill.) -- Fiction; Didactic fiction; Mistresses -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
He had Carrie. His furniture was being paid for. He was maintaining his
position. As for Carrie, the amusements he could give her would have to
do for the present. He could probably keep up his pretensions
sufficiently long without exposure to make good, and then all would be
well. He failed therein to take account of the frailties of human
nature—the difficulties of matrimonial life. Carrie was young. With him
and with her varying mental states were common. At any moment the
extremes of feeling might be anti-polarised at the dinner table. This
often happens in the best regulated families. Little things brought out
on such occasions need great love to obliterate them afterward. Where
that is not, both parties count two and two and make a problem after a
while.
Chapter XXXI. A PET OF GOOD FORTUNE: BROADWAY FLAUNTS ITS JOYS
The effect of the city and his own situation on Hurstwood was
paralleled in the case of Carrie, who accepted the things which fortune
provided with the most genial good-nature. New York, despite her first
expression of disapproval, soon interested her exceedingly. Its clear
atmosphere, more populous thoroughfares, and peculiar indifference
struck her forcibly. She had never seen such a little flat as hers, and
yet it soon enlisted her affection. The new furniture made an excellent
showing, the sideboard which Hurstwood himself arranged gleamed
brightly. The furniture for each room was appropriate, and in the
so-called parlour, or front room, was installed a piano, because Carrie
said she would like to learn to play. She kept a servant and developed
rapidly in household tactics and information. For the first time in her
life she felt settled, and somewhat justified in the eyes of society as
she conceived of it. Her thoughts were merry and innocent enough. For a
long while she concerned herself over the arrangement of New York
flats, and wondered at ten families living in one building and all
remaining strange and indifferent to each other. She also marvelled at
the whistles of the hundreds of vessels in the harbour—the long, low
cries of the Sound steamers and ferry-boats when fog was on. The mere
fact that these things spoke from the sea made them wonderful. She
looked much at what she could see of the Hudson from her west windows
and of the great city building up rapidly on either hand. It was much
to ponder over, and sufficed to entertain her for more than a year
without becoming stale.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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