Carrie saw things were wrong with him. He was not so handsome when gloomy. The lines at the sides of the eyes were deepened. Naturally dark of skin, gloom made him look slightly sinister. He was quite a disagreeable figure. Carrie set the table and brought in the meal. “Dinner’s ready,” she said, passing him for something. He did not answer, reading on. She came in and sat down at her place, feeling exceedingly wretched. “Won’t you eat now?” she asked. He folded his paper and drew near, silence holding for a time, except for the “Pass me’s.” “It’s been gloomy to-day, hasn’t it?” ventured Carrie, after a time. “Yes,” he said. He only picked at his food. “Are you still sure to close up?” said Carrie, venturing to take up the subject which they had discussed often enough. “Of course we are,” he said, with the slightest modification of sharpness. This retort angered Carrie. She had had a dreary day of it herself. “You needn’t talk like that,” she said. “Oh!” he exclaimed, pushing back from the table, as if to say more, but letting it go at that. Then he picked up his paper. Carrie left her seat, containing herself with difficulty. He saw she was hurt. “Don’t go ’way,” he said, as she started back into the kitchen. “Eat your dinner.” She passed, not answering. He looked at the paper a few moments, and then rose up and put on his coat. “I’m going downtown, Carrie,” he said, coming out. “I’m out of sorts to-night.” She did not answer. “Don’t be angry,” he said. “It will be all right to-morrow.” He looked at her, but she paid no attention to him, working at her dishes. “Good-bye!” he said finally, and went out. This was the first strong result of the situation between them, but with the nearing of the last day of the business the gloom became almost a permanent thing. Hurstwood could not conceal his feelings about the matter. Carrie could not help wondering where she was drifting. It got so that they talked even less than usual, and yet it was not Hurstwood who felt any objection to Carrie. It was Carrie who shied away from him. This he noticed. It aroused an objection to her becoming indifferent to him. He made the possibility of friendly intercourse almost a giant task, and then noticed with discontent that Carrie added to it by her manner and made it more impossible. At last the final day came. When it actually arrived, Hurstwood, who had got his mind into such a state where a thunderclap and raging storm would have seemed highly appropriate, was rather relieved to find that it was a plain, ordinary day. The sun shone, the temperature was pleasant. He felt, as he came to the breakfast table, that it wasn’t so terrible, after all. “Well,” he said to Carrie, “to-day’s my last day on earth.” Carrie smiled in answer to his humour. Hurstwood glanced over his paper rather gayly. He seemed to have lost a load.