“I mustn’t take the money,” said Carrie, after they were settled in a cosey corner, and Drouet had ordered the lunch. “I can’t wear those things out there. They—they wouldn’t know where I got them.” “What do you want to do,” he smiled, “go without them?” “I think I’ll go home,” she said, wearily. “Oh, come,” he said, “you’ve been thinking it over too long. I’ll tell you what you do. You say you can’t wear them out there. Why don’t you rent a furnished room and leave them in that for a week?” Carrie shook her head. Like all women, she was there to object and be convinced. It was for him to brush the doubts away and clear the path if he could. “Why are you going home?” he asked. “Oh, I can’t get anything here.” “They won’t keep you?” he remarked, intuitively. “They can’t,” said Carrie. “I’ll tell you what you do,” he said. “You come with me. I’ll take care of you.” Carrie heard this passively. The peculiar state which she was in made it sound like the welcome breath of an open door. Drouet seemed of her own spirit and pleasing. He was clean, handsome, well-dressed, and sympathetic. His voice was the voice of a friend. “What can you do back at Columbia City?” he went on, rousing by the words in Carrie’s mind a picture of the dull world she had left. “There isn’t anything down there. Chicago’s the place. You can get a nice room here and some clothes, and then you can do something.” Carrie looked out through the window into the busy street. There it was, the admirable, great city, so fine when you are not poor. An elegant coach, with a prancing pair of bays, passed by, carrying in its upholstered depths a young lady. “What will you have if you go back?” asked Drouet. There was no subtle undercurrent to the question. He imagined that she would have nothing at all of the things he thought worth while. Carrie sat still, looking out. She was wondering what she could do. They would be expecting her to go home this week. Drouet turned to the subject of the clothes she was going to buy. “Why not get yourself a nice little jacket? You’ve got to have it. I’ll loan you the money. You needn’t worry about taking it. You can get yourself a nice room by yourself. I won’t hurt you.” Carrie saw the drift, but could not express her thoughts. She felt more than ever the helplessness of her case. “If I could only get something to do,” she said. “Maybe you can,” went on Drouet, “if you stay here. You can’t if you go away. They won’t let you stay out there. Now, why not let me get you a nice room? I won’t bother you—you needn’t be afraid. Then, when you get fixed up, maybe you could get something.” He looked at her pretty face and it vivified his mental resources. She was a sweet little mortal to him—there was no doubt of that. She seemed to have some power back of her actions. She was not like the common run of store-girls. She wasn’t silly.