Minnie was truly distressed at this, but maintained a kindly demeanour. Hanson said perhaps she had better go back home for a while. When she got up after three days, it was taken for granted that her position was lost. The winter was near at hand, she had no clothes, and now she was out of work. “I don’t know,” said Carrie; “I’ll go down Monday and see if I can’t get something.” If anything, her efforts were more poorly rewarded on this trial than the last. Her clothes were nothing suitable for fall wearing. Her last money she had spent for a hat. For three days she wandered about, utterly dispirited. The attitude of the flat was fast becoming unbearable. She hated to think of going back there each evening. Hanson was so cold. She knew it could not last much longer. Shortly she would have to give up and go home. On the fourth day she was down town all day, having borrowed ten cents for lunch from Minnie. She had applied in the cheapest kind of places without success. She even answered for a waitress in a small restaurant where she saw a card in the window, but they wanted an experienced girl. She moved through the thick throng of strangers, utterly subdued in spirit. Suddenly a hand pulled her arm and turned her about. “Well, well!” said a voice. In the first glance she beheld Drouet. He was not only rosy-cheeked, but radiant. He was the essence of sunshine and good-humour. “Why, how are you, Carrie?” he said. “You’re a daisy. Where have you been?” Carrie smiled under his irresistible flood of geniality. “I’ve been out home,” she said. “Well,” he said, “I saw you across the street there. I thought it was you. I was just coming out to your place. How are you, anyhow?” “I’m all right,” said Carrie, smiling. Drouet looked her over and saw something different. “Well,” he said, “I want to talk to you. You’re not going anywhere in particular, are you?” “Not just now,” said Carrie. “Let’s go up here and have something to eat. George! but I’m glad to see you again.” She felt so relieved in his radiant presence, so much looked after and cared for, that she assented gladly, though with the slightest air of holding back. “Well,” he said, as he took her arm—and there was an exuberance of good-fellowship in the word which fairly warmed the cockles of her heart. They went through Monroe Street to the old Windsor dining-room, which was then a large, comfortable place, with an excellent cuisine and substantial service. Drouet selected a table close by the window, where the busy rout of the street could be seen. He loved the changing panorama of the street—to see and be seen as he dined. “Now,” he said, getting Carrie and himself comfortably settled, “what will you have?”