The rooms which Mr. Withers displayed to Carrie and Lola were three and bath—a suite on the parlour floor. They were done in chocolate and dark red, with rugs and hangings to match. Three windows looked down into busy Broadway on the east, three into a side street which crossed there. There were two lovely bedrooms, set with brass and white enamel beds, white ribbon-trimmed chairs and chiffoniers to match. In the third room, or parlour, was a piano, a heavy piano lamp, with a shade of gorgeous pattern, a library table, several huge easy rockers, some dado book shelves, and a gilt curio case, filled with oddities. Pictures were upon the walls, soft Turkish pillows upon the divan footstools of brown plush upon the floor. Such accommodations would ordinarily cost a hundred dollars a week. “Oh, lovely!” exclaimed Lola, walking about. “It is comfortable,” said Carrie, who was lifting a lace curtain and looking down into crowded Broadway. The bath was a handsome affair, done in white enamel, with a large, blue-bordered stone tub and nickel trimmings. It was bright and commodious, with a bevelled mirror set in the wall at one end and incandescent lights arranged in three places. “Do you find these satisfactory?” observed Mr. Withers. “Oh, very,” answered Carrie. “Well, then, any time you find it convenient to move in, they are ready. The boy will bring you the keys at the door.” Carrie noted the elegantly carpeted and decorated hall, the marbled lobby, and showy waiting-room. It was such a place as she had often dreamed of occupying. “I guess we’d better move right away, don’t you think so?” she observed to Lola, thinking of the commonplace chamber in Seventeenth Street. “Oh, by all means,” said the latter. The next day her trunks left for the new abode. Dressing, after the matinée on Wednesday, a knock came at her dressing-room door. Carrie looked at the card handed by the boy and suffered a shock of surprise. “Tell her I’ll be right out,” she said softly. Then, looking at the card, added: “Mrs. Vance.” “Why, you little sinner,” the latter exclaimed, as she saw Carrie coming toward her across the now vacant stage. “How in the world did this happen?” Carrie laughed merrily. There was no trace of embarrassment in her friend’s manner. You would have thought that the long separation had come about accidentally. “I don’t know,” returned Carrie, warming, in spite of her first troubled feelings, toward this handsome, good-natured young matron. “Well, you know, I saw your picture in the Sunday paper, but your name threw me off. I thought it must be you or somebody that looked just like you, and I said: ‘Well, now, I will go right down there and see.’ I was never more surprised in my life. How are you, anyway?” “Oh, very well,” returned Carrie. “How have you been?”