Timid as Carrie was, she was strong in capability. The relianceof others made her feel as if she must, and when she must shedared. Experience of the world and of necessity was in herfavour. No longer the lightest word of a man made her headdizzy. She had learned that men could change and fail. Flatteryin its most palpable form had lost its force with her. Itrequired superiority--kindly superiority--to move her--thesuperiority of a genius like Ames.。， When he reached the flat by half-past five, it was still dark.He knew that Carrie was not there, not only because there was nolight showing through the transom, but because the evening paperswere stuck between the outside knob and the door. He opened withhis key and went in. Everything was still dark. Lighting thegas, he sat down, preparing to wait a little while. Even ifCarrie did come now, dinner would be late. He read until six,then got up to fix something for himself.
Hurstwood ran the car close and stopped. He had not done sowholly, however, before a crowd gathered about. It was composedof ex-motormen and conductors in part, with a sprinkling offriends and sympathisers.。， "You are to use this room, Miss Madenda," said one of the stagelackeys.
Hurstwood winced the least bit. The real thing was slightlyworse than the thoughts of it had been.。， Carrie hugged herself with delight. Oh, wasn't it just fine! Atlast! The first, the long-hoped for, the delightful notice! Andthey called her clever. She could hardly restrain herself fromlaughing loudly. Had Lola seen it?
"I have a million in my own right. I could give you everyluxury. There isn't anything you could ask for that you couldn'thave. I say this, not because I want to speak of my money, butbecause I love you and wish to gratify your every desire. It islove that prompts me to write. Will you not give me one half-hour in which to plead my cause?"。，
Hurstwood approached and held out his own toward the fire. Hewas sick of the bareness and privation of all things connectedwith his venture, but was steeling himself to hold out. Hefancied he could for a while.。， Passing Fifty-ninth Street, he took the west side of CentralPark, which he followed to Seventy-eighth Street. Then heremembered the neighbourhood and turned over to look at the massof buildings erected. It was very much improved. The great openspaces were filling up. Coming back, he kept to the Park until110th Street, and then turned into Seventh Avenue again, reachingthe pretty river by one o'clock.
"Not much," answered Hurstwood.。， It was a funny English story he was telling to a company ofactors. Even as his voice recalled him, he was smiling. Acrusty old codger, sitting near by, seemed disturbed; at least,he stared in a most pointed way. Hurstwood straightened up. Thehumour of the memory fled in an instant and he felt ashamed. Forrelief, he left his chair and strolled out into the streets.