“Fine. But aren’t you a success! Dear, oh! All the papers talking about you. I should think you would be just too proud to breathe. I was almost afraid to come back here this afternoon.” “Oh, nonsense,” said Carrie, blushing. “You know I’d be glad to see you.” “Well, anyhow, here you are. Can’t you come up and take dinner with me now? Where are you stopping?” “At the Wellington,” said Carrie, who permitted herself a touch of pride in the acknowledgment. “Oh, are you?” exclaimed the other, upon whom the name was not without its proper effect. Tactfully, Mrs. Vance avoided the subject of Hurstwood, of whom she could not help thinking. No doubt Carrie had left him. That much she surmised. “Oh, I don’t think I can,” said Carrie, “to-night. I have so little time. I must be back here by 7.30. Won’t you come and dine with me?” “I’d be delighted, but I can’t to-night,” said Mrs. Vance studying Carrie’s fine appearance. The latter’s good fortune made her seem more than ever worthy and delightful in the other’s eyes. “I promised faithfully to be home at six.” Glancing at the small gold watch pinned to her bosom, she added: “I must be going, too. Tell me when you’re coming up, if at all.” “Why, any time you like,” said Carrie. “Well, to-morrow then. I’m living at the Chelsea now.” “Moved again?” exclaimed Carrie, laughing. “Yes. You know I can’t stay six months in one place. I just have to move. Remember now—half-past five.” “I won’t forget,” said Carrie, casting a glance at her as she went away. Then it came to her that she was as good as this woman now—perhaps better. Something in the other’s solicitude and interest made her feel as if she were the one to condescend. Now, as on each preceding day, letters were handed her by the doorman at the Casino. This was a feature which had rapidly developed since Monday. What they contained she well knew. _Mash notes_ were old affairs in their mildest form. She remembered having received her first one far back in Columbia City. Since then, as a chorus girl, she had received others—gentlemen who prayed for an engagement. They were common sport between her and Lola, who received some also. They both frequently made light of them. Now, however, they came thick and fast. Gentlemen with fortunes did not hesitate to note, as an addition to their own amiable collection of virtues, that they had their horses and carriages. Thus one: “I have a million in my own right. I could give you every luxury. There isn’t anything you could ask for that you couldn’t have. I say this, not because I want to speak of my money, but because I love you and wish to gratify your every desire. It is love that prompts me to write. Will you not give me one half-hour in which to plead my cause?”