《Sister Carrie》——嘉莉妹妹（中英文对照）完结_派派后花园

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[Novel] 《Sister Carrie》——嘉莉妹妹（中英文对照）完结

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Chapter 20 THE LURE OF THE SPIRIT: THE FLESH IN PURSUIT
Passion in a man of Hurstwood's nature takes a vigorous form. It is no musing, dreamy thing. There is none of the tendency to sing outside of my lady's window -- to languish and repine in the face of difficulties. In the night he was long getting to sleep because of too much thinking, and in the morning he was early awake, seizing with alacrity upon the same dear subject and pursuing it with vigour. He was out of sorts physically, as well as disordered mentally, for did he not delight in a new manner in his Carrie, and was not Drouet in the way? Never was man more harassed than he by the thoughts of his love being held by the elated, flush-mannered drummer. He would have given anything, it seemed to him, to have the complication ended -- to have Carrie acquiesce to an arrangement which would dispose of Drouet effectually and forever.
What to do. He dressed thinking. He moved about in the same chamber with his wife, unmindful of her presence.
At breakfast he found himself without an appetite. The meat to which he helped himself remained on his plate untouched. His coffee grew cold, while he scanned the paper indifferently. Here and there he read a little thing, but remembered nothing. Jessica had not yet come down. His wife sat at one end of the table revolving thoughts of her own in silence. A new servant had been recently installed and had forgot the napkins. On this account the silence was irritably broken by a reproof.
"I've told you about this before, Maggie," said Mrs. Hurstwood. "I'm not going to tell you again."
Hurstwood took a glance at his wife. She was frowning. Just now her manner irritated him excessively. Her next remark was addressed to him.
"Have you made up your mind, George, when you will take your vacation?"
It was customary for them to discuss the regular summer outing at this season of the year.
"Not yet," he said, "I'm very busy just now."
"Well, you'll want to make up your mind pretty soon, won't you, if we're going?" she returned.
"I guess we have a few days yet," he said.
"Hmff," she returned. "Don't wait until the season's over."
She stirred in aggravation as she said this.
"There you go again," he observed. "One would think I never did anything, the way you begin."
"Well, I want to know about it," she reiterated.
"You've got a few days yet," he insisted. "You'll not want to start before the races are over."
He was irritated to think that this should come up when he wished to have his thoughts for other purposes.
"Well, we may. Jessica doesn't want to stay until the end of the races."
"What did you want with a season ticket, then?"
"Uh!" she said, using the sound as an exclamation of disgust, "I'll not argue with you," and therewith arose to leave the table.
"Say," he said, rising, putting a note of determination in his voice which caused her to delay her departure, "what's the matter with you of late? Can't I talk with you any more?"
"Certainly, you can talk with me," she replied, laying emphasis on the word.
"Well, you wouldn't think so by the way you act. Now, you want to know when I'll be ready -- not for a month yet. Maybe not then."
"We'll go without you."
"You will, eh?" he sneered.
"Yes, we will."
He was astonished at the woman's determination, but it only irritated him the more.
"Well, we'll see about that. It seems to me you're trying to run things with a pretty high hand of late. You talk as though you settled my affairs for me. Well, you don't. You don't regulate anything that's connected with me. If you want to go, go, but you won't hurry me by any such talk as that."
He was thoroughly aroused now. His dark eyes snapped, and he crunched his paper as he laid it down. Mrs. Hurstwood said nothing more. He was just finishing when she turned on her heel and went out into the hall and upstairs. He paused for a moment, as if hesitating, then sat down and drank a little coffee, and thereafter arose and went for his hat and gloves upon the main floor.
His wife had really not anticipated a row of this character. She had come down to the breakfast table feeling a little out of sorts with herself and revolving a scheme which she had in her mind. Jessica had called her attention to the fact that the races were not what they were supposed to be. The social opportunities were not what they had thought they would be this year. The beautiful girl found going every day a dull thing. There was an earlier exodus this year of people who were anybody to the watering places and Europe. In her own circle of acquaintances several young men in whom she was interested had gone to Waukesha. She began to feel that she would like to go too, and her mother agreed with her.
Accordingly, Mrs. Hurstwood decided to broach the subject. She was thinking this over when she came down to the table, but for some reason the atmosphere was wrong. She was not sure, after it was all over, just how the trouble had begun. She was determined now, however, that her husband was a brute, and that, under no circumstances, would she let this go by unsettled. She would have more lady-like treatment or she would know why.
For his part, the manager was loaded with the care of this new argument until he reached his office and started from there to meet Carrie. Then the other complications of love, desire, and opposition possessed him. His thoughts fled on before him upon eagles' wings. He could hardly wait until he should meet Carrie face to face. What was the night, after all, without her -- what the day? She must and should be his.
For her part, Carrie had experienced a world of fancy and feeling since she had left him, the night before. She had listened to Drouet's enthusiastic maunderings with much regard for that part which concerned herself, with very little for that which affected his own gain. She kept him at such lengths as she could, because her thoughts were with her own triumph. She felt Hurstwood's passion as a delightful background to her own achievement, and she wondered what he would have to say. She was sorry for him, too, with that peculiar sorrow which finds something complimentary to itself in the misery of another. She was now experiencing the first shades of feeling of that subtle change which removes one out of the ranks of the suppliants into the lines of the dispensers of charity. She was, all in all, exceedingly happy.
On the morrow, however, there was nothing in the papers concerning the event, and, in view of the flow of common, everyday things about, it now lost a shade of the glow of the previous evening. Drouet himself was not talking so much of as for her. He felt instinctively that, for some reason or other, he needed reconstruction in her regard.
"I think," he said, as he spruced around their chambers the next morning, preparatory to going down town, "that I'll straighten out that little deal of mine this month and then we'll get married. I was talking with Mosher about that yesterday."
"No, you won't," said Carrie, who was coming to feel a certain faint power to jest with the drummer.
"Yes, I will," he exclaimed, more feelingly than usual, adding, with the tone of one who pleads, "Don't you believe what I've told you?"
Carrie laughed a little.
"Of course I do," she answered.
Drouet's assurance now misgave him. Shallow as was his mental observation, there was that in the things which had happened which made his little power of analysis useless. Carrie was still with him, but not helpless and pleading. There was a lilt in her voice which was new. She did not study him with eyes expressive of dependence. The drummer was feeling the shadow of something which was coming. It coloured his feelings and made him develop those little attentions and say those little words which were mere forefendations against danger.
Shortly afterward he departed, and Carrie prepared for her meeting with Hurstwood. She hurried at her toilet, which was soon made, and hastened down the stairs. At the corner she passed Drouet, but they did not see each other.
The drummer had forgotten some bills which he wished to turn into his house. He hastened up the stairs and burst into the room, but found only the chambermaid, who was cleaning up.
"Hello," he exclaimed, half to himself, "has Carrie gone?"
"Your wife? Yes, she went out just a few minutes ago."
"That's strange," thought Drouet. "She didn't say a word to me. I wonder where she went?"
He hastened about, rummaging in his valise for what he wanted, and finally pocketing it. Then he turned his attention to his fair neighbour, who was good-looking and kindly disposed towards him.
"What are you up to?" he said, smiling.
"Just cleaning," she replied, stopping and winding a dusting towel about her hand.
"Tired of it?"
"Not so very."
"Let me show you something," he said, affably, coming over and taking out of his pocket a little lithographed card which had been issued by a wholesale tobacco company. On this was printed a picture of a pretty girl, holding a striped parasol, the colours of which could be changed by means of a revolving disk in the back, which showed red, yellow, green, and blue through little interstices made in the ground occupied by the umbrella top.
"Isn't that clever?" he said, handing it to her and showing her how it worked. "You never saw anything like that before."
"Isn't it nice?" she answered.
"You can have it if you want it," he remarked.
"That's a pretty ring you have," he said, touching a commonplace setting which adorned the hand holding the card he had given her.
"Do you think so?"
"That's right," he answered, making use of a pretence at examination to secure her finger. "That's fine."
The ice being thus broken, he launched into further observation, pretending to forget that her fingers were still retained by his. She soon withdrew them, however, and retreated a few feet to rest against the window-sill.
"I didn't see you for a long time," she said, coquettishly, repulsing one of his exuberant approaches. "You must have been away."
"I was," said Drouet.
"Do you travel far?"
"Pretty far -- yes."
"Do you like it?"
"Oh, not very well. You get tired of it after a while."
"I wish I could travel," said the girl, gazing idly out of the window.
"What has become of your friend, Hurstwood?" she suddenly asked, bethinking herself of the manager, who, from her own observation, seemed to contain promising material.
"He's here in town. What makes you ask about him?"
"Oh, nothing, only he hasn't been here since you got back."
"How did you come to know him?"
"Didn't I take up his name a dozen times in the last month?"
"Get out," said the drummer, lightly. "He hasn't called more than half a dozen times since we've been here."
"He hasn't, eh?" said the girl, smiling. "That's all you know about it."
Drouet took on a slightly more serious tone. He was uncertain as to whether she was joking or not.
"Tease," he said, "what makes you smile that way?"
"Oh, nothing."
"Have you seen him recently?"
"Not since you came back," she laughed.
"Before?"
"Certainly."
"How often?"
"Why, nearly every day."
She was a mischievous newsmonger, and was keenly wondering what the effect of her words would be.
"Who did he come to see?" asked the drummer, incredulously.
"Mrs. Drouet."
He looked rather foolish at this answer, and then attempted to correct himself so as not to appear a dupe.
"Well," he said, "what of it?"
"Nothing," replied the girl, her head cocked coquettishly on one side.
"He's an old friend," he went on, getting deeper into the mire.
He would have gone on further with his little flirtation, but the taste for it was temporarily removed. He was quite relieved when the girl's name was called from below.
"I've got to go," she said, moving away from him airily.
"I'll see you later," he said, with a pretence of disturbance at being interrupted.
When she was gone, he gave freer play to his feelings. His face, never easily controlled by him, expressed all the perplexity and disturbance which he felt. Could it be that Carrie had received so many visits and yet said nothing about them? Was Hurstwood lying? What did the chambermaid mean by it, anyway? He had thought there was something odd about Carrie's manner at the time. Why did she look so disturbed when he had asked her how many times Hurstwood had called? By George! he remembered now. There was something strange about the whole thing.
He sat down in a rocking-chair to think the better, drawing up one leg on his knee and frowning mightily. His mind ran on at a great rate.
And yet Carrie hadn't acted out of the ordinary. It couldn't be, by George, that she was deceiving him. She hadn't acted that way. Why, even last night she had been as friendly toward him as could be, and Hurstwood too. Look how they acted! He could hardly believe they would try to deceive him.
His thoughts burst into words.
"She did act sort of funny at times. Here she had dressed and gone out this morning and never said a word."
He scratched his head and prepared to go down town. He was still frowning. As he came into the hall he encountered the girl, who was now looking after another chamber. She had on a white dusting cap, beneath which her chubby face shone good-naturedly. Drouet almost forgot his worry in the fact that she was smiling on him. He put his hand familiarly on her shoulder, as if only to greet her in passing.
"Got over being mad?" she said, still mischievously inclined.
"I'm not mad," he answered.
"I thought you were," she said, smiling.
"Quit your fooling about that," he said, in an offhand way. "Were you serious?"
"Certainly," she answered. Then, with an air of one who did not intentionally mean to create trouble, "He came lots of times. I thought you knew."
The game of deception was up with Drouet. He did not try to simulate indifference further.
"Did he spend the evenings here?" he asked.
"Sometimes. Sometimes they went out."
"In the evening?"
"Yes. You mustn't look so mad, though."
"I'm not," he said. "Did any one else see him?"
"Of course," said the girl, as if, after all, it were nothing in particular.
"How long ago was this?"
"Just before you came back."
The drummer pinched his lip nervously.
"Don't say anything, will you?" he asked, giving the girl's arm a gentle squeeze.
"Certainly not," she returned. "I wouldn't worry over it."
"All right," he said, passing on, seriously brooding for once, and yet not wholly unconscious of the fact that he was making a most excellent impression upon the chambermaid.
"I'll see her about that," he said to himself, passionately, feeling that he had been unduly wronged. "I'll find out, b'George, whether she'll act that way or not."
情欲在像赫斯渥这类人身上出现时，总呈现强烈的形式，绝非沉思梦幻般的东西。像他这种人可不会在情人的窗外唱小夜曲--也不会在遇到挫折时憔悴或者呻吟。夜里他因为想得太多了，久久睡不着；早上又老早醒了，一醒来又立刻去想那个甜蜜的事情，一个劲儿想个不停。他浑身不舒服，心烦意乱。一方面是他更加喜欢他的嘉莉，另一方面又有杜洛埃这个绊脚石，这还不足以使他烦恼吗？想到他的爱人正被那个得意洋洋精力旺盛的推销员所占有，世上再没有人比他更感痛苦的了。在他看来，只要能结束这种三角局面，只要嘉莉肯接受一项安排以便永久有效地摆脱掉杜洛埃，要他付出什么代价他都愿意。 “怎么办呢？”他一边穿衣一边想着这个问题。他在他和妻子共同的卧室里走动，对她视而不见。
吃早饭时他发现自己一点胃口也没有，叉到盘中的肉还留在那里没有动过。咖啡已经放凉了，可是他仍在心不在焉地浏览报纸。这里那里他也读到一两则小消息，但是读过后他就什么也不记得了。杰西卡还在楼上卧室没有下来，他的妻子坐在桌子的另一头默默地想自己的心事。最近又换了一个女仆，今天新女仆忘了准备餐巾。为了这件事，他妻子大声斥责，令人恼火地打破了宁静。
“麦琪，这件事我早就告诉过你了，”赫斯渥太太说。“下次我不会再提醒你了。”赫斯渥看了他太太一眼。她正皱着眉头。她现在的举动非常让他恼火。她下一句话是对他说的：“乔治，你有没有决定什么时候去度假？”按老习惯，他们每年都是这个季节商量夏天外出度假的计划。
“还没有，”他说道，“眼下我正忙着。”
“嗯，如果我们要动身的话，你得赶忙决定了，是不是？”她答道。
“我看再拖几天也没关系，”他说。
“哼，”她说，“别等度假季节过完了再决定。”她这么说时，恼怒地扭动着身体。
“你又来了，”他批评说，“听你说话的口气，人家会以为我什么事情也不做呢。”“嗯，我一定要知道你的休假日期，”她重复说。
“你还可以等几天，”他坚持说，“赛马还没有结束，你反正走不了。”他很生气，因为他正有事情要考虑，她偏偏打岔提出这个问题。
“我们可以走得了。杰西卡不愿意等赛马结束再走。”“那么你们当初为什么非要全赛季的票子不可呢？”“哼！”她用这一声哼表示她极度的厌烦。“我不跟你争论，”说着就站起来离开了桌子。
“喂，”他站起来说道，“你近来怎么了？我就不能和你说话了吗？”他口气的坚决态度使她停住了脚。
“当然，你可以和我说话，”她回答说，最后两个字说得特别地重。
“哼，看你的样子，根本不是这么回事。好，你要知道我什么时候走得了--这个月里我离不开，下个月也不一定。”“那我们就自己去了。”“你真这么想，是吗？”他讥笑地说。
“是的，我们就这么办。”
他看到这女人的坚决态度很感惊愕。不过这使他更恼火了。
“好，我们走着瞧好了。照最近的情形看起来，你想要发号施令，为所欲为了。听你说话的口气还想当我的家了。哼，你别作梦。你别想干预和我有关的事。如果你想走，你就走好了。
你别指望用这种话来逼我走。”
他现在怒火中烧了。他的黑眼睛气得一闪一闪的，怒火直冒，把报纸揉成一团扔在一边。赫斯渥太太没有再说什么。不等他说完，她就转身朝外面的客厅走，接着就上楼了。他停顿了一下，好像是在犹豫。然后他又坐了下来，喝了一点咖啡，就站起身，到一楼去拿帽子和手套。
他太太确实没有料到会有这一场争吵。她下楼来吃早饭时，心绪不佳，脑子里反复盘算着一个计划。杰西卡提醒她，马赛不像她们原来想的那么有趣，今年赛马场没有提供多少社交机会。这位美丽的小姐感到每天去赛马场实在乏味。今年那些贵人到海滨和欧洲度假走得比往年早。她认识的人中，好几个她感兴趣的年轻人已经到华克夏去了。她于是开始想她也该走了。她母亲很赞成这主意。
基于这些想法，赫斯渥太太决定要提出这个问题。她走到饭桌边来时，心里正想这件事。但是不知为什么气氛有些不对劲。吵完架以后，她还是不明白怎么会争吵起来的。但是她现在已经肯定她丈夫是个粗暴的人。当然她对此绝不会善罢甘休的，她一定要他拿她当个夫人对待，不然她就要追究到底，找出原因来。
在经理那方面，在去办公室的路上他还在想着这场新的争吵。从办公室出来，他去和嘉莉幽会，这时候他脑子里装的是由爱情、欲望和阻力交织而成的另一种复杂局面。他的思念装上鹰的翅膀飞翔在他前面，他迫不及待地想要和嘉莉见面。
说到底，没有了她，夜晚有什么意思呢？白天又有什么意思？她必须是也应该是他的。
在嘉莉这方面，自从前一晚和他分手以后，她生活在一个充满想象和情感的世界里。对于杜洛埃絮絮聒聒的热情表白，她只注意听了和她有关的那一部分，至于他对拥有嘉莉的得意吹嘘，她就没有心思去听了。她尽量和他疏远，一心只想着自己的成功。她感到赫斯渥的爱情把她的成功衬托得更加可喜，她真想知道他会对此说些什么。她也为他难过，不过这种难过里也夹杂着几分沾沾之喜，因为赫斯渥的痛苦本身就是一种恭维。她正初次体验到从一个乞讨者变为施舍者的那种微妙的感情变化。总之，她非常非常地快乐。
然而第二天早上报纸对这件事只字未提。每天日常的事情还是一如既往地进行着，于是前一天晚上的成功有点黯然失色了。杜洛埃现在与其说是在谈论她的成功，不如说是在竭力讨好她了。他本能地感到，为了这种或者那种的原因，他有必要重获嘉莉的欢心。
“我打算，”他在房间里穿着打扮，准备上商业区之前说道，“这个月要把我的小买卖清理整顿一下，接着我们就结婚。
我昨天和摩旭谈了这事。”
“不，你骗人。”她现在稍稍有了点自信心，敢跟这个推销员开开玩笑了。
“真的，不骗你。”他叫了起来，这样动感情在他来说还是第一次。他又用恳求的口吻补充说：“你难道对我的话不相信吗？”嘉莉笑了一下。
“当然我相信，”她回答。
杜洛埃现在不那么自信了。尽管不善于察言观色，他发现事情起了一些变化，这种变化超出了他小小的分析能力之外。
嘉莉仍然和他在一起，但是已经不是懦弱无助哀哀乞怜了。她的声音里透出一种轻快活泼，这是以前没有的。她不再用依赖的目光注意他的一举一动。推销员感到了要发生什么事的阴影。这影响了他的情感，使他开始向嘉莉献些小殷勤，说些讨好的话，作为预防危机的措施。
他刚走不久，嘉莉就为赴赫斯渥的约会做准备。她匆匆打扮了一下，没花多少时间就准备就绪，急急下了楼梯。在马路转弯处，她走过杜洛埃的身边，但是两个人都没有看到对方。
推销员忘了拿几张他想交给商号的账单。他匆匆忙忙上了楼梯，又冲进房间，结果发现房间里只有公寓女仆在收拾房间。
“哈啰，”他叫了一声，又半自言自语地说：“嘉莉出去了吗？”“你太太吗？是的，她才走没两分钟。”“真奇怪，”杜洛埃想，“她一句话也没对我提起。她上哪里去了呢？”他匆匆东翻西找，在旅行箱里乱摸了一气，终于找到了他要找的东西，就把它放进口袋。接着他把注意力投向站在旁边的女仆，她长得很俊，对他很和善。
“你在干什么？”他微笑着问。
“打扫一下房间。”她说着停了下来，把抹布缠在手上绕着。
“累了吗？”
“不太累。”
“我给你看点东西。”他和气地说着走了过来，从口袋里掏出一张小小的石印画卡片。那是一家烟草批发公司发行的。卡片上印着一个漂亮的姑娘，手里拿着一把条纹太阳桑只要转动卡片后面的小圆转盘，这伞上的颜色就会变化。卡片上伞面部分开了一些小裂缝，从小裂缝里变化出红、黄、蓝、绿的颜色。
“做得很巧妙，是不是？”他说着把卡片递给她，教她怎么玩。“这种东西你以前从来没有见过吧。”“可不，真漂亮，”她说。
“如果你想要，你留着好了，”他说道。
“你的戒指真漂亮。”他说着摸了摸她拿卡片那个手上戴的一个普通嵌戒。
“真的吗？”
“真的，”他答道，一边假装要仔细看戒指而握住了她的手指，“是很美。”这样一来，他们之间的拘束感就打破了。他继续聊着，假装忘了他还握着她的手。不过她不久就把自己的手抽了回去，往后退了几步，倚在窗台上。
“我好久没有见到你了。”她拒绝了他的一次热切的亲近以后，卖弄风情地说，“你一定出门去了。”“是的，”杜洛埃说。
“你出门到很远的地方去吗？”
“对，相当远。”
“你喜欢出门吗？”
“不太喜欢，你过一段时间就厌倦了。”“我倒很希望我能到外面跑跑。”姑娘说着无聊地看着窗外。
“你的朋友赫斯渥先生最近怎么样？”她突然问道。照她观察，这个经理似乎是个大有可谈的话题。
“他就在这个城里。你怎么想起问他？”
“噢，没有什么。只是自从你回来以后他一直没有到这里来。”“你怎么会认识他的？”“上个月他来了十几次，每次不是我给他通报的吗？”“别瞎说了，”推销员不在意地说，“从打我们住到这里起，他总共只来过五六次。”“是吗？”这姑娘微笑着说，“那是你只知道这几次。”杜洛埃的口气比刚才严肃了，他不能肯定这姑娘是不是在开玩笑。
“调皮鬼，”他说，“你干嘛这么古怪地笑？”“噢，没什么？”“你最近见到他了吗？”“从你回家来就没有见过，”她笑了起来。
“这之前呢？”
“当然见过了。”
“常来吗？”
“是啊，差不多每天都来。”
她是个爱搬弄是非的人，非常想知道她这话会产生什么后果。
“他来看谁？”推锁员不相信地问。
“杜洛埃太太。”
他听了这个回答发了一会儿呆，然后他竭力要掩饰自己露出的傻相。
“嗯，”他说，“那又怎样呢？”
“没什么，”姑娘风骚地把头一歪，回答。
“他是老朋友了，”他继续说，越来越深地陷进了泥沼。
尽管他暂时已没了兴趣，他本来还会把这小小的调情进行下去，所以当楼下叫这姑娘下去时，他如释重负。
“我得走了，”她说着轻盈地从他身边走开。
“等会儿见，”他装出被人打断感到烦恼的神气说道。
等她一走，他让自己的感情发泄出来。他从来不善于掩饰自己的脸色。这会儿，他心里感到的种种困惑和烦恼都在脸上呈现出来。嘉莉接待人家这么多次，在他面前却一句没有提起。这事情可能吗？赫斯渥在说谎吗？这女仆这么说，是什么意思呢？他当时就感到嘉莉的神色有点反常。他问她赫斯渥来访几次时，她为什么显得那么不安呢？天哪，他现在想起来了。这整个事情是有点古怪呢。
他在一个摇椅里坐了下来，以便更好地想想。他把一个脚架在膝盖上，眉头皱紧了，思绪在飞快地变幻。
然而嘉莉并没有什么越轨的举动埃天哪，她不可能是在欺骗他。她从来没有骗过人。对了，就在昨晚她对他还是非常友好，赫斯渥也是如此。看看他们的举止！他几乎无法相信他们要其他。
他不禁自言自语起来。
“有时候她的举动是有点怪。今早她穿戴整齐出去了，可是她一个字也没有说。”他挠了挠头，打算去商业区了。他的眉头紧皱着。走到门厅时，又碰到了那个姑娘。她正在打扫另一个房间，头上戴着一项白色的掸尘帽子，帽子下胖乎乎的脸蛋露出和善的笑意。
看到她朝他微笑，他把自己的烦恼几乎都忘了。他亲密地把他的手搭在她肩上，好像只是路过打个招呼。
“气消了吗？”她仍然有点调皮地问。
“我没有生气，”他回答。
“我还以为你气疯了，”她说着微微一笑。
“不要开玩笑了，”他随便地说，“这事当真吗？”“当然了，”她回答。接着她用一种并非故意要挑拨是非的神气说：“他来了很多次，我还以为你知道的呢。”杜洛埃放弃了对她掩饰自己的思想的打算，他不想再装出无所谓的神气了。
“他晚上来这里吗？”他问。
“来过几次。有时候他们出去。”
“晚上吗？”
“是的，不过你不用这么生气。”
“我没有生气，”他说。“还有别人见到他吗？”“当然了，”这女孩子说道，好像这事毕竟算不得什么似的。
“这是多久以前的事了？”
“就是你回来以前不久的事。”
推销员神经质地捏着嘴唇。
“这事你什么也别说，好吗？”他握住了姑娘的手臂轻轻捏了一把，说道。
“我一定不说，”她回答。“我才不为这事操心呢？”“好，就这样。”他说着又继续往外走，生平第一次进行严肃的思考。不过并不是完全没有想到他已给这女仆留下了一个很好的印象。
“我要看看她对这事怎么说，”他愤愤地想，感到自己受了不该受的委屈。“天哪，我一定要弄明白她是不是做出这种事来。”
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Chapter 21 THE LURE OF THE SPIRIT: THE FLESH IN PURSUIT
When Carrie came Hurstwood had been waiting many minutes. His blood was warm; his nerves wrought up. He was anxious to see the woman who had stirred him so profoundly the night before.
"Here you are," he said, repressedly, feeling a spring in his limbs and an elation which was tragic in itself.
"Yes," said Carrie.
They walked on as if bound for some objective point, while Hurstwood drank in the radiance of her presence. The rustle of her pretty skirt was like music to him.
"Are you satisfied?" he asked, thinking of how well she did the night before.
"Are you?"
He tightened his fingers as he saw the smile she gave him.
"It was wonderful."
Carrie laughed ecstatically.
"That was one of the best things I've seen in a long time," he added.
He was dwelling on her attractiveness as he had felt it the evening before, and mingling it with the feeling her presence inspired now.
Carrie was dwelling in the atmosphere which this man created for her. Already she was enlivened and suffused with a glow. She felt his drawing toward her in every sound of his voice.
"Those were such nice flowers you sent me," she said, after a moment or two. "They were beautiful."
"Glad you liked them," he answered, simply.
He was thinking all the time that the subject of his desire was being delayed. He was anxious to turn the talk to his own feelings. All was ripe for it. His Carrie was beside him. He wanted to plunge in and expostulate with her, and yet he found himself fishing for words and feeling for a way.
"You got home all right," he said, gloomily, of a sudden, his tone modifying itself to one of self-commiseration.
"Yes," said Carrie, easily.
He looked at her steadily for a moment, slowing his pace and fixing her with his eye.
She felt the flood of feeling.
"How about me?" he asked.
This confused Carrie considerably, for she realised the floodgates were open. She didn't know exactly what to answer.
"I don't know," she answered.
He took his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, and then let it go. He stopped by the walk side and kicked the grass with his toe. He searched her face with a tender, appealing glance.
"Won't you come away from him?" he asked, intensely.
"I don't know," returned Carrie, still illogically drifting and finding nothing at which to catch.
As a matter of fact, she was in a most hopeless quandary. Here was a man whom she thoroughly liked, who exercised an influence over her, sufficient almost to delude her into the belief that she was possessed of a lively passion for him. She was still the victim of his keen eyes, his suave manners, his fine clothes. She looked and saw before her a man who was most gracious and sympathetic, who leaned toward her with a feeling that was a delight to observe. She could not resist the glow of his temperament, the light of his eye. She could hardly keep from feeling what he felt.
And yet she was not without thoughts which were disturbing. What did he know? What had Drouet told him? Was she a wife in his eyes, or what? Would he marry her? Even while he talked, and she softened, and her eyes were lighted with a tender glow, she was asking herself if Drouet had told him they were not married. There was never anything at all convincing about what Drouet said.
And yet she was not grieved at Hurstwood's love. No strain of bitterness was in it for her, whatever he knew. He was evidently sincere. His passion was real and warm. There was power in what he said. What should she do? She went on thinking this, answering vaguely, languishing affectionately, and altogether drifting, until she was on a borderless sea of speculation.
"Why don't you come away?" he said, tenderly. "I will arrange for you whatever-"
"Oh, don't," said Carrie.
"Don't what?" he asked. "What do you mean?"
There was a look of confusion and pain in her face. She was wondering why that miserable thought must be brought in. She was struck as by a blade with the miserable provision which was outside the pale of marriage.
He himself realised that it was a wretched thing to have dragged in. He wanted to weigh the effects of it, and yet he could not see. He went beating on, flushed by her presence, clearly awakened, intensely enlisted in his plan.
"Won't you come?" he said, beginning over and with a more reverent feeling. "You know I can't do without you -- you know it -- it can't go on this way -- can it?"
"I know," said Carrie.
"I wouldn't ask if I -- I wouldn't argue with you if I could help it. Look at me, Carrie. Put yourself in my place. You don't want to stay away from me, do you?"
She shook her head as if in deep thought.
"Then why not settle the whole thing, once and for all?"
"I don't know," said Carrie.
"Don't know! Ah, Carrie, what makes you say that? Don't torment me. Be serious."
"I am," said Carrie, softly.
"You can't be, dearest, and say that. Not when you know how I love you. Look at last night."
His manner as he said this was the most quiet imaginable. His face and body retained utter composure. Only his eyes moved, and they flashed a subtle, dissolving fire. In them the whole intensity of the man's nature was distilling itself.
Carrie made no answer.
"How can you act this way, dearest?" he inquired, after a time. "You love me, don't you?"
He turned on her such a storm of feeling that she was overwhelmed. For the moment all doubts were cleared away.
"Yes," she answered, frankly and tenderly.
"Well, then you'll come, won't you -- come to-night?"
Carrie shook her head in spite of her distress.
"I can't wait any longer," urged Hurstwood. "If that is too soon, come Saturday."
"When will we be married?" she asked, diffidently, forgetting in her difficult situation that she had hoped he took her to be Drouet's wife.
The manager started, hit as he was by a problem which was more difficult than hers. He gave no sign of the thoughts that flashed like messages to his mind.
"Any time you say," he said, with ease, refusing to discolour his present delight with this miserable problem.
"Saturday?" asked Carrie.
He nodded his head.
"Well, if you will marry me then," she said, "I'll go."
The manager looked at his lovely prize, so beautiful, so winsome, so difficult to be won, and made strange resolutions. His passion had gotten to that stage now where it was no longer coloured with reason. He did not trouble over little barriers of this sort in the face of so much loveliness. He would accept the situation with all its difficulties; he would not try to answer the objections which cold truth thrust upon him. He would promise anything, everything, and trust to fortune to disentangle him. He would make a try for Paradise, whatever might be the result. He would be happy, by the Lord, if it cost all honesty of statement, all abandonment of truth.
Carrie looked at him tenderly. She could have laid her head upon his shoulder, so delightful did it all seem.
"Well," she said, "I'll try and get ready then."
Hurstwood looked into her pretty face, crossed with little shadows of wonder and misgiving, and thought he had never seen anything more lovely.
"I'll see you again to-morrow," he said, joyously, "and we'll talk over the plans."
He walked on with her, elated beyond words, so delightful had been the result. He impressed a long story of joy and affection upon her, though there was but here and there a word. After a half-hour he began to realise that the meeting must come to an end, so exacting is the world.
"To-morrow," he said at parting, a gayety of manner adding wonderfully to his brave demeanour.
"Yes," said Carrie, tripping elatedly away.
There had been so much enthusiasm engendered that she was believing herself deeply in love. She sighed as she thought of her handsome adorer. Yes, she would get ready by Saturday. She would go, and they would be happy.
嘉莉到达的时候，赫斯渥已经等了好几分钟了。他的热血在沸腾，情绪激动，迫不及待地要见到前一晚深深打动了他的这个女人。 “你终于来了，”他克制住自己的激动说道，觉得浑身轻快有力，兴奋异常。这种兴奋本身就是一种悲剧。
“是啊，”嘉莉说。
他们一起往前走，好像要到什么地方去似的。赫斯渥走在她的身旁，陶醉在她的光采夺目的美色中。她的漂亮的裙子发出沙沙声，在他听来像音乐那样美妙。
“你满足吗？”想到她前晚的杰出表演，他问道。
“你呢？”
看到她的笑脸，他更紧地握住了她的手。
“妙极了。”
嘉莉开心地笑了。
“这是很长时间来我看到的最佳表演，”他又补充说。
像昨晚一样，他细细品味着她的可爱之处。这品味融入了他们的幽会激起的情感。
嘉莉沉浸在这男人所创造的气氛中，变得活泼愉快，神采飞扬。在他的每句话里，她都体会到他对她的倾慕。
“你送我的那些花太可爱了，”停了一会儿，她说，“都很美。”“你喜欢我就高兴了，”他简单地回答。
这期间他一直在想，他现在这样是在推迟实现自己的欲望。他急于要把谈话引到他的情感上去。现在时机已经成熟了，他的嘉莉正走在他身旁。他想直截了当地劝嘉莉离开杜洛埃，但是不知道该如何措辞，还在思索怎么开口的问题。
“你昨晚回家还好吧，”他闷闷不乐地说，他的语气突然变得自叹自怜了。
“是啊，”嘉莉轻松地说。
他定定地看了她一会儿，放慢了脚步，凝视着她。
她感到泛滥的情感向她袭来。
“你想过我怎么样吗？”他问。
这使嘉莉大为窘迫，因为她意识到感情的闸门打开了，她却不知道该怎么回答。
“我不知道，”她答道。
他的牙齿咬住了了嘴唇，过了一会儿才松开。他在路边停了下来，用脚尖踢着地上的草，然后他用温柔恳求的目光久久探索着她的脸。
“你不愿意离开他吗？”他热烈地问道。
“我不知道，”嘉莉回答。她思绪仍然很乱，游移不定，不知如何是好。
事实上，她正陷入进退两难的困境。眼前这男人是她非常喜欢的。他对她的影响之大，足以使她误以为自己对他一往情深。他的敏锐的目光，温文尔雅的举止和考究精美的衣服仍然让她昏头。她觉得眼前这个男人非常和蔼可亲，富于同情心，对她非常倾心，这份情意令人欣喜。她无法抗拒他的气质和他的明亮的眼睛。她几乎无法不产生和他同样的感觉。
但是她还有令人不安的担心。关于她，他知道些什么？杜洛埃和他说了些什么？在他眼里，她是别人的妻子呢，还是别的什么？他会娶她吗？他的话使她心软，她的眼睛不觉露出温情脉脉的光辉。但是在他说话的时候，她心里一直在想，杜洛埃是不是已经告诉他，他们并没有结婚。杜洛埃的话总是让人不敢相信。
不过她并不为赫斯渥的爱情感到担心。不管他知道些什么，他对她的爱没有一点勉强或苦涩。他显然是诚挚的，他的爱真切而热烈，他的话让人信服。她该怎么办呢？她继续这么想着，含糊地回答着，情意绵绵地痛苦着，总的来说她在犹豫不决，陷入了无边无际的臆测之海。
“你何不离开他呢？”他温柔地说。“我会为你安排一切的。”“哦，不要，”嘉莉说。
“不要什么？”他问。“你是什么意思？”
她的脸上露出狼狈和痛苦的表情。她想，为什么要提出这个令人难堪的话题。这种婚姻以外靠男人赡养的可悲生活像刀一样刺痛了她的心。
他自己也意识到这个话题令人难受。他想估量一下这话的效果，但是估量不出。他继续试探着往下说，和她在一起他感到心情振奋，头脑清醒，一心一意想着实现自己的计划。
“你不愿意来吗？”他带着更虔诚的感情又重复了一遍。
“你知道我离不开你--你知道的--这样下去不行--是不是？”“我知道，”嘉莉说。
“如果我能忍下去的话，我不会求你的。不会和你争论的。
看着我，嘉莉。设身处地为我想想。你也不愿意和我分离，是不是？”她摇了摇头，好像陷入了深思。
“那么为什么不把这件事一劳永逸地解决了呢？”“我不知道，”嘉莉说。
“不知道！啊，嘉莉，你为什么这么说呢？别折磨我了。你认真一点吧。”“我是很认真，”嘉莉轻轻地说。
“最最亲爱的，你如果认真的话，就不会说这种话了。你要是知道我有多爱你，你就不会这么说了。你想想昨晚的事吧。”他这么说的时候，神态说不出有多宁静。他的脸和身子一动也不动，只有他的眼睛在传情，发出微妙的，令人销魂的火焰。在这目光中他凝聚了他天性中的全部激情。
嘉莉没有回答。
“你怎么能这样对我呢，宝贝？”他问道。又过了一会儿，他又说：“你是爱我的，是吗？”他的感情像狂风暴雨向她袭来，她完全被征服了。一时间所有的疑虑都烟消云散。
“是的，”她回答道，语气是那么坦城和温柔。
“那么你会到我身边来的，是不是？今晚就来，好吗？”嘉莉尽管难过，还是摇了摇头。
“我再也不能等下去了，”赫斯渥催促说，“如果今晚太仓促，那么星期六来吧。”“我们什么时候结婚呢？”她犹犹豫豫地问。在这为难的情势下，她忘了自己原来是希望他把她当作杜洛埃太太的。
经理吃了一惊，被这问题击中了，因为这问题比她的问题还要辣手。不过尽管这些思想像电讯一样在他脑中闪过，他脸上一点声色也没露。
“你愿意什么时候就什么时候，”他从容地回答，不愿意让这个倒霉的问题影响他眼下的欢乐情绪。
“星期六怎么样？”嘉莉问。
他点了点头。
“好吧，如果你到时候愿意娶我，”她说，“我就出走。”经理看着他可爱的情人，那么美丽，那么迷人，又那么难以到手，他就下了荒唐的决心。他的欲火已经到了不再受理智左右的地步。面对着如此美色，他已经顾不得这一类的小小障碍。不管有多少困难，他也不会退却。他不打算去回答冷酷的事实摆在他面前的难题。他什么都答应，一切的一切他都答应。让命运去解决这些难题吧。他要千方百计进入爱的乐园，不管前面有什么结果等着他。天哪，他一定要得到幸福，哪怕需要他说谎，哪怕要他不顾事实。
嘉莉温柔地看着他，真想把自己的头靠在他的肩膀上：一切看来是那么令人欣喜。
“好的，”她说，“我会想办法到时候准备好的。”赫斯渥看着她的美丽的脸庞，那上面浮现着一丝惊异和担心。他觉得他从来没有见过比这更可爱的东西了。
“我们明天再见面，”他快乐地说，“到时候我们再商量具体细节。”他继续和她往前走着。这么令人高兴的结果让他兴奋得难以形容。尽管他偶然才说上片言只语，他让她感到了他的无限快乐和对她的无限情意。半小时后，他意识到他该结束他们的幽会了：这世界是如此严厉，不肯通融。
“明天见，”分手时他说道。他的欢乐的情绪使他一往无前的气概更加潇洒。
“好。”嘉莉说着欢快轻盈地走了。
这次会面激起了强烈的热情，因此她自以为她是在恋爱了。想到她的英俊的情人，她心满意足地叹息了一声。是的，她星期六会准备好的。她要出走，他们会幸福的。
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Chapter 22 THE BLAZE OF THE TINDER: FLESH WARS WITH THE FLESH
The misfortune of the Hurstwood household was due to the fact that jealousy, having been born of love, did not perish with it. Mrs. Hurstwood retained this in such form that subsequent influences could transform it into hate. Hurstwood was still worthy, in a physical sense, of the affection his wife had once bestowed upon him, but in a social sense he fell short. With his regard died his power to be attentive to her, and this, to a woman, is much greater than outright crime toward another. Our self-love dictates our appreciation of the good or evil in another. In Mrs. Hurstwood it discoloured the very hue of her husband's indifferent nature. She saw design in deeds and phrases which sprung only from a faded appreciation of her presence.
As a consequence, she was resentful and suspicious. The jealousy that prompted her to observe every falling away from the little amenities of the married relation on his part served to give her notice of the airy grace with which he still took the world. She could see from the scrupulous care which he exercised in the matter of his personal appearance that his interest in life had abated not a jot. Every motion, every glance had something in it of the pleasure he felt in Carrie, of the zest this new pursuit of pleasure lent to his days. Mrs. Hurstwood felt something, sniffing change, as animals do danger, afar off.
This feeling was strengthened by actions of a direct and more potent nature on the part of Hurstwood. We have seen with what irritation he shirked those little duties which no longer contained any amusement or satisfaction for him, and the open snarls with which, more recently, he resented her irritating goads. These little rows were really precipitated by an atmosphere which was surcharged with dissension. That it would shower, with a sky so full of blackening thunder-clouds, would scarcely be thought worthy of comment. Thus, after leaving the breakfast table this morning, raging inwardly at his blank declaration of indifference at her plans, Mrs. Hurstwood encountered Jessica in her dressing-room, very leisurely arranging her hair. Hurstwood had already left the house.
"I wish you wouldn't be so late coming down to breakfast," she said, addressing Jessica, while making for her crochet basket. "Now here the things are quite cold, and you haven't eaten."
Her natural composure was sadly ruffled, and Jessica was doomed to feel the fag end of the storm.
"I'm not hungry," she answered.
"Then why don't you say so, and let the girl put away the things, instead of keeping her waiting all morning?"
"She doesn't mind," answered Jessica, coolly.
"Well, I do, if she doesn't," returned the mother, "and, anyhow, I don't like you to talk that way to me. You're too young to put on such an air with your mother."
"Oh, mamma, don't row," answered Jessica. "What's the matter this morning, anyway?"
"Nothing's the matter, and I'm not rowing. You mustn't think because I indulge you in some things that you can keep everybody waiting. I won't have it."
"I'm not keeping anybody waiting," returned Jessica, sharply, stirred out of a cynical indifference to a sharp defence. "I said I wasn't hungry. I don't want any breakfast."
"Mind how you address me, missy. I'll not have it. Hear me now; I'll not have it!"
Jessica heard this last while walking out of the room, with a toss of her head and a flick of her pretty skirts indicative of the independence and indifference she felt. She did not propose to be quarrelled with.
Such little arguments were all too frequent, the result of a growth of natures which were largely independent and selfish. George, Jr., manifested even greater touchiness and exaggeration in the matter of his individual rights, and attempted to make all feel that he was a man with a man's privileges -- an assumption which, of all things, is most groundless and pointless in a youth of nineteen.
Hurstwood was a man of authority and some fine feeling, and it irritated him excessively to find himself surrounded more and more by a world upon which he had no hold, and of which he had a lessening understanding.
Now, when such little things, such as the proposed earlier start to Waukesha, came up, they made clear to him his position. He was being made to follow, was not leading. When, in addition, a sharp temper was manifested, and to the process of shouldering him out of his authority was added a rousing intellectual kick, such as a sneer or a cynical laugh, he was unable to keep his temper. He flew into hardly repressed passion, and wished himself clear of the whole household. It seemed a most irritating drag upon all his desires and opportunities.
For all this, he still retained the semblance of leadership and control, even though his wife was straining to revolt. Her display of temper and open assertion of opposition were based upon nothing more than the feeling that she could do it. She had no special evidence wherewith to justify herself -- the knowledge of something which would give her both authority and excuse. The latter was all that was lacking, however, to give a solid foundation to what, in a way, seemed groundless discontent. The clear proof of one overt deed was the cold breath needed to convert the lowering clouds of suspicion into a rain of wrath.
An inkling of untoward deeds on the part of Hurstwood had come. Doctor Beale, the handsome resident physician of the neighbourhood, met Mrs. Hurstwood at her own doorstep some days after Hurstwood and Carrie had taken the drive west on Washington Boulevard. Dr. Beale, coming east on the same drive, had recognised Hurstwood, but not before he was quite past him. He was not so sure of Carrie -- did not know whether it was Hurstwood's wife or daughter.
"You don't speak to your friends when you meet them out driving, do you?" he said, jocosely, to Mrs. Hurstwood.
"If I see them, I do. Where was I?"
"On Washington Boulevard," he answered, expecting her eye to light with immediate remembrance.
She shook her head.
"Yes, out near Hoyne Avenue. You were with your husband."
"I guess you're mistaken," she answered. Then, remembering her husband's part in the affair, she immediately fell a prey to a host of young suspicions, of which, however, she gave no sign.
"I know I saw your husband," he went on. "I wasn't so sure about you. Perhaps it was your daughter."
"Perhaps it was," said Mrs. Hurstwood, knowing full well that such was not the case, as Jessica had been her companion for weeks. She had recovered herself sufficiently to wish to know more of the details.
"Was it in the afternoon?" she asked, artfully, assuming an air of acquaintanceship with the matter.
"Yes, about two or three."
"It must have been Jessica," said Mrs. Hurstwood, not wishing to seem to attach any importance to the incident.
The physician had a thought or two of his own, but dismissed the matter as worthy of no further discussion on his part at least.
Mrs. Hurstwood gave this bit of information considerable thought during the next few hours, and even days. She took it for granted that the doctor had really seen her husband, and that he had been riding, most likely, with some other woman, after announcing himself as busy to her. As a consequence, she recalled, with rising feeling, how often he had refused to go to places with her, to share in little visits, or, indeed, take part in any of the social amenities which furnished the diversion of her existence. He had been seen at the theatre with people whom he called Moy's friends; now he was seen driving, and, most likely, would have an excuse for that. Perhaps there were others of whom she did not hear, or why should he be so busy, so indifferent, of late? In the last six weeks he had become strangely irritable -- strangely satisfied to pick up and go out, whether things were right or wrong in the house. Why?
She recalled, with more subtle emotions, that he did not look at her now with any of the old light of satisfaction or approval in his eye. Evidently, along with other things, he was taking her to be getting old and uninteresting. He saw her wrinkles, perhaps. She was fading, while he was still preening himself in his elegance and youth. He was still an interested factor in the merry-makings of the world, while she -- but she did not pursue the thought. She only found the whole situation bitter, and hated him for it thoroughly.
Nothing came of this incident at the time, for the truth is it did not seem conclusive enough to warrant any discussion. Only the atmosphere of distrust and ill-feeling was strengthened, precipitating every now and then little sprinklings of irritable conversation, enlivened by flashes of wrath. The matter of the Waukesha outing was merely a continuation of other things of the same nature.
The day after Carrie's appearance on the Avery stage, Mrs. Hurstwood visited the races with Jessica and a youth of her acquaintance, Mr. Bart Taylor, the son of the owner of a local house-furnishing establishment. They had driven out early, and, as it chanced, encountered several friends of Hurstwood, all Elks, and two of whom had attended the performance the evening before. A thousand chances the subject of the performance had never been brought up had Jessica not been so engaged by the attentions of her young companion, who usurped as much time as possible. This left Mrs. Hurstwood in the mood to extend the perfunctory greetings of some who knew her into short conversations, and the short conversations of friends into long ones. It was from one who meant but to greet her perfunctorily that this interesting intelligence came.
"I see," said this individual, who wore sporting clothes of the most attractive pattern, and had a field-glass strung over his shoulder, "that you did not get over to our little entertainment last evening."
"No?" said Mrs. Hurstwood, inquiringly, and wondering why he should be using the tone he did in noting the fact that she had not been to something she knew nothing about. It was on her lips to say, "What was it?" when he added, "I saw your husband."
Her wonder was at once replaced by the more subtle quality of suspicion.
"Yes," she said, cautiously, "was it pleasant? He did not tell me much about it."
"Very. Really one of the best private theatricals I ever attended. There was one actress who surprised us all."
"Indeed," said Mrs. Hurstwood.
"It's too bad you couldn't have been there, really. I was sorry to hear you weren't feeling well."
Feeling well! Mrs. Hurstwood could have echoed the words after him open-mouthed. As it was, she extricated herself from her mingled impulse to deny and question, and said, almost raspingly:
"Yes, it is too bad."
"Looks like there will be quite a crowd here to-day, doesn't it?" the acquaintance observed, drifting off upon another topic.
The manager's wife would have questioned farther, but she saw no opportunity. She was for the moment wholly at sea, anxious to think for herself, and wondering what new deception was this which caused him to give out that she was ill when she was not. Another case of her company not wanted, and excuses being made. She resolved to find out more.
"Were you at the performance last evening?" she asked of the next of Hurstwood's friends who greeted her, as she sat in her box.
"Yes. You didn't get around."
"No," she answered, "I was not feeling very well."
"So your husband told me," he answered. "Well, it was really very enjoyable. Turned out much better than I expected."
"Were there many there?"
"The house was full. It was quite an Elk night. I saw quite a number of your friends -- Mrs. Harrison, Mrs. Barnes, Mrs. Collins."
"Quite a social gathering."
"Indeed it was. My wife enjoyed it very much."
Mrs. Hurstwood bit her lip.
"So," she thought, "that's the way he does. Tells my friends I am sick and cannot come."
She wondered what could induce him to go alone. There was something back of this. She rummaged her brain for a reason.
By evening, when Hurstwood reached home, she had brooded herself into a state of sullen desire for explanation and revenge. She wanted to know what this peculiar action of his imported. She was certain there was more behind it all than what she had heard, and evil curiosity mingled well with distrust and the remnants of her wrath of the morning. She, impending disaster itself, walked about with gathered shadow at the eyes and the rudimentary muscles of savagery fixing the hard lines of her mouth.
On the other hand, as we may well believe, the manager came home in the sunniest mood. His conversation and agreement with Carrie had raised his spirits until he was in the frame of mind of one who sings joyously. He was proud of himself, proud of his success, proud of Carrie. He could have been genial to all the world, and he bore no grudge against his wife. He meant to be pleasant, to forget her presence, to live in the atmosphere of youth and pleasure which had been restored to him.
So now, the house, to his mind, had a most pleasing and comfortable appearance. In the hall he found an evening paper, laid there by the maid and forgotten by Mrs. Hurstwood. In the dining-room the table was clean laid with linen and napery and shiny with glasses and decorated china. Through an open door he saw into the kitchen, where the fire was crackling in the stove and the evening meal already well under way. Out in the small back yard was George, Jr., frolicking with a young dog he had recently purchased, and in the parlour Jessica was playing at the piano, the sound of a merry waltz filling every nook and corner of the comfortable home. Every one, like himself, seemed to have regained his good spirits, to be in sympathy with youth and beauty, to be inclined to joy and merry-making. He felt as if he could say a good word all around himself, and took a most genial glance at the spread table and polished sideboard before going upstairs to read his paper in the comfortable arm-chair of the sitting-room which looked through the open windows into the street. When he entered there, however, he found his wife brushing her hair and musing to herself the while.
He came lightly in, thinking to smooth over any feeling that might still exist by a kindly word and a ready promise, but Mrs. Hurstwood said nothing. He seated himself in the large chair, stirred lightly in making himself comfortable, opened his paper, and began to read. In a few moments he was smiling merrily over a very comical account of a baseball game which had taken place between the Chicago and Detroit teams.
The while he was doing this Mrs. Hurstwood was observing him casually though the medium of the mirror which was before her. She noticed his pleasant and contented manner, his airy grace and smiling humour, and it merely aggravated her the more. She wondered how he could think to carry himself so in her presence after the cynicism, indifference, and neglect he had heretofore manifested and would continue to manifest so long as she would endure it. She thought how she should like to tell him -- what stress and emphasis she would lend her assertions, how she could drive over this whole affair until satisfaction should be rendered her. Indeed, the shining sword of her wrath was but weakly suspended by a thread of thought.
In the meanwhile Hurstwood encountered a humorous item concerning a stranger who had arrived in the city and became entangled with a bunco-steerer. It amused him immensely, and at last he stirred and chuckled to himself. He wished that he might enlist his wife's attention and read it to her.
"Ha, ha," he exclaimed softly, as if to himself, "that's funny."
Mrs. Hurstwood kept on arranging her hair, not so much as deigning a glance.
He stirred again and went on to another subject. At last he felt as if his good-humour must find some outlet. Julia was probably still out of humour over that affair of this morning, but that could easily be straightened. As a matter of fact, she was in the wrong, but he didn't care. She could go to Waukesha right away if she wanted to. The sooner the better. He would tell her that as soon as he got a chance, and the whole thing would blow over.
"Did you notice," he said, at last, breaking forth concerning another item which he had found, "that they have entered suit to compel the Illinois Central to get off the lake front, Julia?" he asked.
She could scarcely force herself to answer, but managed to say "No," sharply.
Hurstwood pricked up his ears. There was a note in her voice which vibrated keenly.
"It would be a good thing if they did," he went on, half to himself, half to her, though he felt that something was amiss in that quarter. He withdrew his attention to his paper very circumspectly, listening mentally for the little sounds which should show him what was on foot.
As a matter of fact, no man as clever as Hurstwood -- as observant and sensitive to atmospheres of many sorts, particularly upon his own plane of thought -- would have made the mistake which he did in regard to his wife, wrought up as she was, had he not been occupied mentally with a very different train of thought. Had not the influence of Carrie's regard for him, the elation which her promise aroused in him, lasted over, he would not have seen the house in so pleasant a mood. It was not extraordinarily bright and merry this evening. He was merely very much mistaken, and would have been much more fitted to cope with it had he come home in his normal state.
After he had studied his paper a few moments longer, he felt that he ought to modify matters in some way or other. Evidently his wife was not going to patch up peace at a word. So he said:
"Where did George get the dog he has there in the yard?"
"I don't know," she snapped.
He put his paper down on his knees and gazed idly out of the window. He did not propose to lose his temper, but merely to be persistent and agreeable, and by a few questions bring around a mild understanding of some sort.
"Why do you feel so bad about that affair of this morning?" he said, at last. "We needn't quarrel about that. You know you can go to Waukesha if you want to."
"So you can stay here and trifle around with some one else?" she exclaimed, turning to him a determined countenance upon which was drawn a sharp and wrathful sneer.
He stopped as if slapped in the face. In an instant his persuasive, conciliatory manner fled. He was on the defensive at a wink and puzzled for a word to reply.
"What do you mean?" he said at last, straightening himself and gazing at the cold, determined figure before him, who paid no attention, but went on arranging herself before the mirror.
"You know what I mean," she said, finally, as if there were a world of information which she held in reserve -- which she did not need to tell.
"Well, I don't," he said, stubbornly, yet nervous and alert for what should come next. The finality of the woman's manner took away his feeling of superiority in battle.
She made no answer.
"Hmph!" he murmured, with a movement of his head to one side. It was the weakest thing he had ever done. It was totally unassured.
Mrs. Hurstwood noticed the lack of colour in it. She turned upon him, animal-like, able to strike an effectual second blow.
"I want the Waukesha money to-morrow morning," she said.
He looked at her in amazement. Never before had he seen such a cold, steely determination in her eye -- such a cruel look of indifference. She seemed a thorough master of her mood -- thoroughly confident and determined to wrest all control from him. He felt that all his resources could not defend him. He must attack.
"What do you mean?" he said, jumping up. "You want! I'd like to know what's got into you to-night."
"Nothing's got into me," she said, flaming. "I want that money. You can do your swaggering afterwards."
"Swaggering, eh! What! You'll get nothing from me. What do you mean by your insinuations, anyhow?"
"Where were you last night?" she answered. The words were hot as they came. "Who were you driving with on Washington Boulevard? Who were you with at the theatre when George saw you? Do you think I'm a fool to be duped by you? Do you think I'll sit at home here and take your 'too busys' and 'can't come,' while you parade around and make out that I'm unable to come? I want you to know that lordly airs have come to an end so far as I am concerned. You can't dictate to me nor my children. I'm through with you entirely."
"It's a lie," he said, driven to a corner and knowing no other excuse.
"Lie, eh!" she said, fiercely, but with returning reserve; "you may call it a lie if you want to, but I know."
"It's a lie, I tell you," he said, in a low, sharp voice. "You've been searching around for some cheap accusation for months, and now you think you have it. You think you'll spring something and get the upper hand. Well, I tell you, you can't. As long as I'm in this house I'm master of it, and you or any one else won't dictate to me -- do you hear?"
He crept toward her with a light in his eye that was ominous. Something in the woman's cool, cynical, upper-handish manner, as if she were already master, caused him to feel for the moment as if he could strangle her.
She gazed at him -- a pythoness in humour.
"I'm not dictating to you," she returned; "I'm telling you what I want."
The answer was so cool, so rich in bravado, that somehow it took the wind out of his sails. He could not attack her, he could not ask her for proofs. Somehow he felt evidence, law, the remembrance of all his property which she held in her name, to be shining in her glance. He was like a vessel, powerful and dangerous, but rolling and floundering without sail.
"And I'm telling you," he said in the end, slightly recovering himself, "what you'll not get."
"We'll see about it," she said. "I'll find out what my rights are. Perhaps you'll talk to a lawyer, if you won't to me."
It was a magnificent play, and had its effect. Hurstwood fell back beaten. He knew now that he had more than mere bluff to contend with. He felt that he was face to face with a dull proposition. What to say he hardly knew. All the merriment had gone out of the day. He was disturbed, wretched, resentful. What should he do?
"Do as you please," he said, at last. "I'll have nothing more to do with you," and out he strode.
赫斯渥家的不幸在于源于爱情的妒忌并没有随着爱情的消失而消失。赫斯渥太太的妒忌心特别重，后来发生的事情把这种妒忌又变成了仇恨。从身体上说，赫斯渥仍然值得他太太以往的眷恋。但是从两人共同生活的意义上说，他已经令她感到不满了。随着他的爱情消失，他不再能够对她体贴入微。而这一点对于女人来说，简直比杀人放火的暴行还要恶劣。我们往往从利己心出发来决定我们对别人的看法。赫斯渥太太的利己心使她戴上有色眼镜来看待她丈夫的冷漠的性格。那些只是出于夫妻感情淡漠的话和行为，在她看来就成了别有用心了。 这么一来，她变得满腹怨恨和疑心重重。妒忌心使她注意到他在夫妻关系上的每个疏忽不尽职；同样的，妒忌心使她注意到他在生活中仍是那么轻松优雅。他对个人修饰打扮非常讲究细心，从中可以看出他对生活的兴趣丝毫没有减弱。他的每个动作，每个目光都流露出他对嘉莉的喜爱，流露出这新的追求带给他的生活乐趣。赫斯渥太太感觉到了什么，她嗅出了他身上的变化，就像一头动物隔了老远就能嗅出危险。
赫斯渥的行为直接有力地强化了这种感觉。我们已看到在为家庭效力时，他不耐烦地推诿搪塞，因为那些事已经不能给他带来愉快和满足。对于她那些恼人的催逼，他最近曾大发雷霆。这些小吵小闹其实是由充满不和的气氛造成的。一片乌云密布的天空会下雷阵雨，这一点是不言而喻的。由于他公开挑明对她的计划不感兴趣，因此当赫斯渥太太今早离开饭桌时，她内心怒火中烧。在梳妆间里她看到杰西卡还在慢条斯理地梳头。赫斯渥已经离开了家。
“我希望你不要这么迟迟不下去吃早饭，”她一边走过去拿她的钩针篮，一边对杰西卡说，“饭菜都凉了，可你还没有吃。”她今天由于发脾气失去了往日的平和，所以该杰西卡倒霉，要遭池鱼之灾。
“我不饿，”她回答。
“那你为什么不早说，让女仆把东西收拾掉，害得她等一个上午？”“她不会有意见的，”杰西卡冷冷地说。
“哼，她没意见，我可有意见，”她妈反驳说，“再说，我也不喜欢你用这种态度对我说话，跟你妈耍态度，你还嫌嫩着点呢。”“哎，妈妈，别吵架吧，”杰西卡说，“今天早上究竟出了什么事啊？”“什么事也没有，我也没有跟你吵架。你别以为我在一些事上纵容你，你就可以让别人等你了。我不允许你这样。”“我并没有要任何人等我，”杰西卡针锋相对地说。她的态度从原先的讽嘲和冷漠变成尖锐的反驳：“我说过我不饿，我不要吃早饭。”“注意一点你对我说话的态度，小姐。我不许你这样。你听清楚了，我不许！”没等赫斯渥太太说完，杰西卡就朝门外走。她把头一扬，又把漂亮的裙子一掸，流露出独立不羁和满不在乎的自我感觉。她可不想和谁吵架。
这样的小争论是家常便饭。这是独立自私的天性发展的结果。小乔治在所有涉及个人权利的事上，显示出更大的敏感和过份。他企图让所有的人感到他是一个男子汉，享有男子汉的特权--对一个１９岁的青年来说，这实在是狂妄得太没根据，太没道理了。
赫斯渥是个惯于发号施令，又有一点美好情感的人。他发现自己对于周围的人越来越失去控制，对他们越来越不理解，这使他非常恼火。
现在，像这种提早去华克夏之类的小事提出来时，他清楚地看出了自己在家中的地位。现在不是他来发号施令，他只是跟在他们后头转。他们不仅向他耍威风，把他排挤出权威的地位，而且还要加上令人恼火的精神上的打击，如轻蔑的讥诮或者嘲讽的冷笑，他的脾气再也忍不住了。他几乎不加克制地大发雷霆，但愿自己和这个家一刀两断。对于他的情欲和机会，这个家似乎构成了最令人烦恼的障碍。
尽管如此，尽管他的妻子竭力反叛，他仍然保持着一家之主的外表。她发脾气，公开和他唱反调，其实并没有什么根据，只是感觉到她可以这么做。她并没有什么具体的证据，证明自己这么做有理--并没有掌握什么把柄可以作为凭证或者借口。但是现在所缺的就是借口。只要有了借口，她这似乎无根据的怨气就有了牢靠的根据。怀疑的阴云已经密布，只等一件确凿证据提供冷风，愤怒的暴风雨就要倾盆而下了。
现在终于让她得知了一点赫斯渥行为不轨的消息。就在赫斯渥和嘉莉在华盛顿林荫大道往西兜风这事发生不久，附近的住院医生，漂亮的比尔大夫，在赫斯渥家门口碰到了赫斯渥太太。他那天在同一条大道上朝东走，认出了赫斯渥，不过只是在他过去以后才认出他。他并没看清楚嘉莉--不能肯定那是赫斯渥太太还是他们的女儿。
“你出去兜风时，见到老朋友也不理睬，是不是？”他开玩笑地对赫斯渥太太说。
“如果我看到他们，我总是打招呼的。那是在哪里啊？”“在华盛顿大道，”他回答，期待她的眼光会因为想起来这事而发亮。
她摇了摇头。
“没错，就在靠近荷恩路的地方，你和你丈夫在一起。”“我猜想是你搞错了，”她回答。接着她想起这件事里有她丈夫，她马上生出许多新的怀疑，但是她表面上没有露出自己的疑心。
“我敢肯定我见到你丈夫了，”他继续说，“不过我不敢肯定另一个人是你。也有可能是你女儿。”“也许是吧，”赫斯渥太太说，心里却肯定不是那么回事，因为杰西卡好几个星起来都和她在一起。她竭力掩饰自己的情绪，以便打听更多的细节。
“是在下午吧？”她狡猾地问道，装出一副知道内情的神气。
“是啊，大约两三点钟。”
“那一定是杰西卡，”赫斯渥太太说。她不愿意让人家看出她对这事情很在意。
那医生有一点自己的看法，但是没有说出来。至少就他而言，他认为这事情不值得继续讨论下去了。
接下来几小时乃至几天里，赫斯渥太太对这个消息详加推敲。她认为医生看到她丈夫这一点是确切无疑的。她丈夫很有可能在和别的女人坐马车兜风，对她却说自己“很忙”。于是她越来越生气地回忆其他怎么经常拒绝和她一起出去，拒绝一起去拜访朋友，事实上，拒绝带她去参加任何社交娱乐活动，而这些是她生活中的基本乐趣。有人看见他在戏院里，和他称之为莫埃的朋友们在一起。现在又有人看见他坐马车兜风。很可能，他对这件事又会有借口。也许还有她不知道的旁的人。不然的话，他为什么最近这么忙，对她这么冷淡呢？在最近六个星期里，他变得出奇地爱发脾气，出奇地喜欢拿起东西往外跑，不管家里有事没事。为什么呢？
她以更微妙的情感，想起他现在不再用往日那种满意或者赞赏的目光看她了。很明显，除了别的原因，他还认为她现在人老珠黄没有趣味了。也许他看到了她脸上的皱纹。她已显老，而他却仍然打扮成翩翩佳公子。他还是饶有兴味地去寻欢作乐的场所消遣。而她却--这一点她没有继续往下想。她只是感到整个情况太令人愤慨，因此对他恨之入骨。
这事情她当时并没有声张，因为事实上这件事并不肯定，没有必要提出来。只是猜忌和反感的气氛更浓了，不时地引起一些毛毛雨般的小吵小闹。这些小吵往往因为怒气勃发而变成大吵。华克夏度假一事只是这类事情的延续而已。
嘉莉在阿佛莱会堂登台的第二天，赫斯渥太太带了杰西卡去看赛马。同去的还有杰西卡认识的一个小伙子巴德·泰勒先生，当地家俱店老板的儿子。他们坐了马车，很早就出门了。碰巧遇到了好几个赫斯渥的朋友，他们都是兄弟会的会员，其中有两个前一晚去看了演出。本来看戏这个话题可能根本就不会提起，可是杰西卡的年轻朋友对她大献殷勤，占去了大部分时间。杰西卡的注意力被他吸引去了，于是闲得无聊的赫斯渥太太在和熟人应酬性地打了招呼以后，又开始朋友间的简短聊天，这简短的聊天又延长到长时间的聊天。从一个和她随便打一声招呼的人那里她听到了这个有趣的消息。
“我知道，”那个身上穿着件图案极其漂亮的运动衫，肩上挎着个望远镜的人说道，“昨晚你没有来看我们的小演出。”“没有吗？”赫斯渥太太询问地说，很奇怪他怎么用这口气par提起一场她听都没有听说过的演出。她正想问：“是什么演出？"那人补充说：“我看到你丈夫了。”她的惊奇马上被更微妙的疑心代替了。
“是啊，”她小心地说，“演得还好吗？他没有告诉我这一点。”“好极了，这是我看到过的业余演出中最出色的一常有一个女演员让我们大家都大吃一惊。”“是吗？”赫斯渥太太说。
“是啊，你没有去实在太可惜了。听说你身体不舒服，我真为你惋惜。”“不舒服！”赫斯渥太太几乎要脱口而出重复这几个字了。
但是她克制了自己想否认和质问的复杂冲动，用几乎刺耳的口气说道：“是啊，真太遗憾了。”“看起来，今天来看赛马的人不少，是不是？”这熟人评论说，话题就转到别的事情上去了。
经理太太还想多问些情况，苦于找不到机会。她一时间还茫无头绪，急于自己琢磨琢磨，他究竟又在玩什么骗局，为什么她没有病却放空气说她有玻这是又一个例子说明他不愿意带她出去，还找了借口掩饰，她下决心要打听出更多的事情来。
“你昨晚去看演出了吗？”当她坐在专座上，又有一个赫斯渥的朋友向她打招呼时，她就这样问道。
“去了，可你没有去。”
“是啊，”她答道，“我当时身体有点不舒服。”“我听你丈夫说了，”他回答说。“噢，戏演得很有味，比我原来估计的要好多了。”“有很多人去了吗？”“戏院客满了。真是我们兄弟会的盛会。我看到好几个你的朋友，有哈里生太太，巴恩斯太太，还有柯林斯太太。”“那么这是个社交聚会了。”“不错，是这样。我太太玩得很开心。”赫斯渥太太咬住了嘴唇。
“哼，”她想，“原来他就是这么干的。跟我的朋友们说我有病，来不了。”她猜度着他为什么要单独去。这里面一定有鬼。她挖空心思要找出他的动机来。
这一天琢磨下来，到晚上赫斯渥回家时，她已经满腔怒气，急于要他解释，急于向他报复了。她想要知道他这么做是出于什么目的。她敢肯定事情并不像她听到的那么简单，里面肯定另有名堂。恶意的好奇、猜疑，加上早上的余怒，使她活活就像一触即发的灾难的化身。她在屋里踱来踱去，眼角聚集起越来越深的阴影，嘴角边的冷酷的线条透着野蛮人的残忍。
另一方面，我们很有理由相信，经理回家时满面春风，心情好到无以复加。和嘉莉的谈话以及和她的约定使他兴高采烈，高兴得简直想唱起来。他沾沾自喜，为自己的成功得意，也为嘉莉骄傲。他现在对任何人都抱着友善的态度，对他妻子也不存芥蒂。他愿意和颜悦色，忘记她的存在，生活在他重新焕发的青春和欢乐的气氛中。
因此，眼下这个家在他看来非常令人愉快，非常舒适惬意。在门厅里他看到一份晚报，是女仆放在那里的，赫斯渥太太忘了拿的。在饭厅里饭桌已经摆好了，铺着台布，摆好了餐巾，玻璃器皿和彩色瓷器熠熠生辉。隔着打开的门，他看到厨房里柴火在炉子里噼啪燃烧，晚饭已经快烧好了。在小后院里，小乔治正在逗弄一条他新买的狗。客厅里，杰西卡正在弹钢琴，欢快的华尔兹舞曲声传到这舒适的家中的各个角落。在他看来，仿佛人人像他一样，恢复了好心情，倾心于青春和美丽，热衷于寻欢作乐。对周围的一切，他都想赞上两句。他满意地打量了一眼铺好的餐桌和晶亮的餐柜之后才上楼去，准备到窗子临街的起居间去，舒舒服服地坐在扶手椅里看报。但是当他走进去时，他发现他妻子正在用刷子梳理头发，一边刷，一边在沉思。
他心情轻松地走了进去，准备说上两句好话，作些允诺，好让他妻子消消气。但是他太太一言不发。他在那把大椅子里坐了下来，微微挪动一下身子，使自己坐得更舒服些，然后打开报纸看了起来。没过多久，看见一则芝加哥棒球队和底特律棒球队比赛的有趣报道，他脸上露出愉快的微笑。
他在看报时，他太太通过面前的镜子不经意地打量着他。
她注意到他那快乐满足的神气，轻松潇洒的举止，和乐不可支的心情，这使得她更加怒气冲冲。她真弄不懂他在对她加以讥嘲冷漠和怠慢之后，怎么竟会当着她的面，拿出这样的神气来。如果她加以容忍，他还会继续这样做的。她心里想着该怎么对他说，怎么强调她的要求，怎么来谈这件事，才能彻底发泄她心头的怒气。事实上，就像悬在达漠克利斯头上的宝剑只维系于一根发丝一样，她的怒气也只是由于还待措辞才暂时没有爆发。
与此同时，赫斯渥正读到一则有趣的新闻，讲的是一个初到芝加哥的陌生人如何被赌场骗子引诱上当的消息。他觉得这消息非常有趣，就移动了一下身子，一个人笑了起来。他很希望这能引起他妻子的注意，好把这段新闻读给她听。
“哈哈，”他轻声叫了起来，像是在自言自语，“这太让人发笑了。”赫斯渥太太继续梳理着头发，甚至不屑朝他瞅一眼。
他又动了一下身子，接着看另一则消息。终于他感到该让他的好心情宣泄一下了。朱利亚也许还在对早上的事情耿耿于怀，不过这事情不难解决。事实上是她不对，不过他并不介意。如果她愿意的话，她可以马上去华克夏，越早越好。这一点他一有机会就会告诉她，这样这件事就会过去了。
“你注意到这则新闻没有，朱利亚？”他看到另一则消息时，终于忍不住开口说，“有人对伊利诺州中央铁路公司提起诉讼，不准他们在湖滨区修铁路。”她不想搭理他，但是终于勉强自己说道：“没有。”口气非常尖锐。
赫斯渥竖起了耳朵。她说话的口气在他脑中敲响了警钟。
“如果他们真这么做的话，那倒不错，”他继续说道，半自言自语，半对着她说，不过他已经感到他老婆今天有点不对劲。他非常警觉地把注意力又转向报纸，心里却在留神她的动静，想弄明白究竟出了什么事。
其实，要不是他心里在想别的事，像赫斯渥这样乖巧的人--善于察言观色，对于各种气氛特别敏感，特别是对于那些属于他思想水准以内的气氛非常敏感--本来不会犯这样大的错误，竟然会看不出他妻子正满腔怒气。嘉莉对他的眷顾和许诺使他兴奋异常，神不守舍。不然的话，他不会觉得家里的气氛那么可爱的。今晚的气氛实在没有什么欢乐兴奋之处，是他看走了眼。如果他回家时的心情和往日一样，他本来可以更好地应付眼前的局面的。
他又看了几分钟报纸，随后感到他应该想个什么法子缓和一下矛盾。显然他妻子不打算轻易和他和解。于是他问：“乔治在院里玩的那只狗是从哪里弄来的？”“我不知道，”她气势汹汹地说。
他把报纸放在膝盖上，心不在焉地看着窗外。他不打算发脾气，只想保持和颜悦色，希望藉问这问那达成某种温和的谅解。
“早上那件事，你何必那么生气呢？”他终于说道，“这事情不值得吵架。你知道，如果你真想去华克夏，你去好了。”“你好一个人留下来，跟别人调情，是不是？”她转过身来对他嚷道，铁板着的脸上露出尖刻愤怒的讥嘲。
他像被人打了一个耳光，一下僵住了。他的劝说和解的态度立刻消失了，他迅速转入守势，可是一时间不知道该如何回答。
“你是什么意思？”他终于打起精神问道，目光注视着眼前这个冷酷坚决的女人。她却不加理会，继续在镜子前打扮。
“我是什么意思，你自己心里明白，”她终于说道，好像她手里掌握了大量的证据却不屑于说似的。
“不，我不明白，”他固执地说，但心里却很紧张，提防着下一步的攻势。这女人那种最后摊牌的神气使他在争吵中感到处于劣势。
她没有回答。
“哼！”他把头一歪轻轻哼了一声。这是他最无力的举动，口气中一点也没有把握。
赫斯渥太太注意到了他的话苍白无力，于是像个野兽一样回过身来面对着他，准备再来一下有力的打击。
“到华克夏去的钱，我明天早上就要，”她说道。
他吃惊地看着她。他从来没有见过她的目光露出这么冰冷坚决的表情--这么满不在乎的残酷表情。她似乎镇定自若--充满着自信和决心要从他手中夺去一切控制权。他感到自己的一切机智谋略在她面前无能为力无法自卫。他必须进行反击。
“你是什么意思？”他跳起来说道，“你要！我想知道你今晚中了什么邪？”“我没中邪，”她怒火直冒，“我就是要那笔钱，你拿出钱以后再摆你的臭架子吧。”“摆臭架子？哼！你别想从我手里拿到钱，你那些含沙射影的话是什么意思？”“昨晚你去哪里了？”她回击道，她的话听上去非常激烈。
“你在华盛顿大道和谁一起坐马车兜风？乔治那晚看到你时，你和谁在一起看戏？你以为我是个傻瓜，会让你蒙了吗？你以为我会坐在家里，相信你那些'太忙''来不了'的鬼话吗？我会听任你在外面造谣放风说我来不了？我要你放明白一点，你那种老爷派头对我来说已经用不上了。你别再想对我或者孩子们指手划脚了。我和你之间的关系已经彻底完了。”“你说谎，”他说道，他被逼得走投无路，想不出什么别的借口辩解。
“说谎？哼！”她激烈地说，但随后又恢复了克制，“你爱说这是谎话你就去说好了，反正我心里明白。”“这是谎话，我告诉你，”他用低沉严厉的口气说道。“好几个月来，你就在四处打听，想找出什么罪名来。现在你以为你找到了。你以为你可以突然发难，爬到我的头上来了。哼！我告诉你这办不到。只要我在这房子里，我就是一家之主。不管你还是别的什么人都别想对我发号施令，你听到没有？"他眼冒凶光，一步步朝她逼去。看到这女人那种冷静讥讽，胜券在握，好像她已经是一家之主的神气，一时间他恨不得把她气死。
她直视着他--活脱脱一个女巫的神气。
“我并没有朝你发号施令，”她回答。“我只是告诉你我要什么。”她说得那么冷静，那么勇气十足，使他不知怎么泄了气。
他无法对她反击，无法要她拿出证据来。不知怎么，他感到她的闪烁的目光好像在表明证据和法律在她那一边，也使他想其他的全部财产在她名下。他就像一艘战船，强大而有威慑力，就是没有风帆，只好在海上摇摆挣扎。
“我要告诉你的是，”他终于略微恢复了一点镇静说道，“哪些东西你别想得到手。”“那就走着瞧好了，”她说。“我会弄明白我有些什么权利。
如果你不想和我谈，也许你会乐意和我的律师谈。”她这一手玩得真漂亮，马上奏了效。赫斯渥被击败了，只好退却。他现在已经意识到她并不是在装模作样地恫吓，自己面临的是一个不容乐观的难题了。他几乎不知道应该说些什么。这一天的欢乐情绪如今已消失得无影无踪，他又不安又恼火。怎么办呢？
“随你的便吧，”他终于说道，“我不想和你再吵了。”他说着大步走出了房间。
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Chapter 23 A SPIRIT IN TRAVAIL: ONE RUNG PUT BEHIND
When Carrie reached her own room she had already fallen a prey to those doubts and misgivings which are ever the result of a lack of decision. She could not persuade herself as to the advisability of her promise, or that now, having given her word, she ought to keep it. She went over the whole ground in Hurstwood's absence, and discovered little objections that had not occurred to her in the warmth of the manager's argument. She saw where she had put herself in a peculiar light, namely, that of agreeing to marry when she was already supposedly married. She remembered a few things Drouet had done, and now that it came to walking away from him without a word, she felt as if she were doing wrong. Now, she was comfortably situated, and to one who is more or less afraid of the world, this is an urgent matter, and one which puts up strange, uncanny arguments. "You do not know what will come. There are miserable things outside. People go a-begging. Women are wretched. You never can tell what will happen. Remember the time you were hungry. Stick to what you have."
Curiously, for all her leaning towards Hurstwood, he had not taken a firm hold on her understanding. She was listening, smiling, approving, and yet not finally agreeing. This was due to a lack of power on his part, a lack of that majesty of passion that sweeps the mind from its seat, fuses and melts all arguments and theories into a tangled mass, and destroys for the time being the reasoning power. This majesty of passion is possessed by nearly every man once in his life, but it is usually an attribute of youth and conduces to the first successful mating.
Hurstwood, being an older man, could scarcely be said to retain the fire of youth, though he did possess a passion warm and unreasoning. It was strong enough to induce the leaning toward him which, on Carrie's part, we have seen. She might have been said to be imagining herself in love, when she was not. Women frequently do this. It flows from the fact that in each exists a bias towards affection, a craving for the pleasure of being loved. The longing to be shielded, bettered, sympathised with, is one of the attributes of the sex. This, coupled with sentiment and a natural tendency to emotion, often makes refusing difficult. It persuades them that they are in love.
Once at home, she changed her clothes and straightened the rooms for herself. In the matter of the arrangement of the furniture she never took the house-maid's opinion. That young woman invariably put one of the rocking-chairs in the corner, and Carrie as regularly moved it out. To-day she hardly noticed that it was in the wrong place, so absorbed was she in her own thoughts. She worked about the room until Drouet put in appearance at five o'clock. The drummer was flushed and excited and full of determination to know all about her relations with Hurstwood. Nevertheless, after going over the subject in his mind the livelong day, he was rather weary of it and wished it over with. He did not foresee serious consequences of any sort, and yet he rather hesitated to begin. Carrie was sitting by the window when he came in, rocking and looking out.
"Well," she said innocently, weary of her own mental discussion and wondering at his haste and ill-concealed excitement, "what makes you hurry so?"
Drouet hesitated, now that he was in her presence, uncertain as to what course to pursue. He was no diplomat. He could neither read nor see.
"When did you get home?" he asked foolishly.
"Oh, an hour or so ago. What makes you ask that?"
"You weren't here," he said, "when I came back this morning, and I thought you had gone out."
"So I did," said Carrie simply. "I went for a walk."
Drouet looked at her wonderingly. For all his lack of dignity in such matters he did not know how to begin. He stared at her in the most flagrant manner until at last she said:
"What makes you stare at me so? What's the matter?"
"Nothing," he answered. "I was just thinking."
"Just thinking what?" she returned smilingly, puzzled by his attitude.
"Oh, nothing -- nothing much."
"Well, then, what makes you look so?"
Drouet was standing by the dresser, gazing at her in a comic manner. He had laid off his hat and gloves and was now fidgeting with the little toilet pieces which were nearest him. He hesitated to believe that the pretty woman before him was involved in anything so unsatisfactory to himself. He was very much inclined to feel that it was all right, after all. Yet the knowledge imparted to him by the chambermaid was rankling in his mind. He wanted to plunge in with a straight remark of some sort, but he knew not what.
"Where did you go this morning?" he finally asked weakly.
"Why, I went for a walk," said Carrie.
"Sure you did?" he asked.
"Yes, what makes you ask?"
She was beginning to see now that he knew something. Instantly she drew herself into a more reserved position. Her cheeks blanched slightly.
"I thought maybe you didn't," he said, beating about the bush in the most useless manner.
Carrie gazed at him, and as she did so her ebbing courage halted. She saw that he himself was hesitating, and with a woman's intuition realised that there was no occasion for great alarm.
"What makes you talk like that?" she asked, wrinkling her pretty forehead. "You act so funny to-night."
"I feel funny," he answered.
They looked at one another for a moment, and then Drouet plunged desperately into his subject.
"What's this about you and Hurstwood?" he asked.
"Me and Hurstwood -- what do you mean?"
"Didn't he come here a dozen times while I was away?"
"A dozen times," repeated Carrie, guiltily. "No, but what do you mean?"
"Somebody said that you went out riding with him and that he came here every night."
"No such thing," answered Carrie. "It isn't true. Who told you that?"
She was flushing scarlet to the roots of her hair, but Drouet did not catch the full hue of her face, owing to the modified light of the room. He was regaining much confidence as Carrie defended herself with denials.
"Well, some one," he said. "You're sure you didn't?"
"Certainly," said Carrie. "You know how often he came."
Drouet paused for a moment and thought.
"I know what you told me," he said finally.
He moved nervously about, while Carrie looked at him confusedly.
"Well, I know that I didn't tell you any such thing as that," said Carrie, recovering herself.
"If I were you," went on Drouet, ignoring her last remark, "I wouldn't have anything to do with him. He's a married man, you know."
"Who -- who is?" said Carrie, stumbling at the word.
"Why, Hurstwood," said Drouet, noting the effect and feeling that he was delivering a telling blow.
"Hurstwood!" exclaimed Carrie, rising. Her face had changed several shades since this announcement was made. She looked within and without herself in a half-dazed way.
"Who told you this?" she asked, forgetting that her interest was out of order and exceedingly incriminating.
"Why, I know it. I've always known it," said Drouet.
Carrie was feeling about for a right thought. She was making a most miserable showing, and yet feelings were generating within her which were anything but crumbling cowardice.
"I thought I told you," he added.
"No, you didn't," she contradicted, suddenly recovering her voice. "You didn't do anything of the kind."
Drouet listened to her in astonishment. This was something new.
"I thought I did," he said.
Carrie looked around her very solemnly and then went over to the window.
"You oughtn't to have had anything to do with him," said Drouet in an injured tone, "after all I've done for you."
"You," said Carrie, "you! What have you done for me?"
Her little brain had been surging with contradictory feelings -- shame at exposure, shame at Hurstwood's perfidy, anger at Drouet's deception, the mockery he had made of her. Now one clear idea came into her head. He was at fault. There was no doubt about it. Why did he bring Hurstwood out -- Hurstwood, a married man, and never say a word to her? Never mind now about Hurstwood's perfidy -- why had he done this? Why hadn't he warned her? There he stood now, guilty of this miserable breach of confidence and talking about what he had done for her!
"Well, I like that," exclaimed Drouet, little realising the fire his remark had generated. "I think I've done a good deal."
"You have, eh?" she answered. "You've deceived me -- that's what you've done. You've brought your friends out here under false pretences. You've made me out to be -- Oh," and with this her voice broke and she pressed her two little hands together tragically.
"I don't see what that's got to do with it," said the drummer quaintly.
"No," she answered, recovering herself and shutting her teeth. "No, of course you don't see. There isn't anything you see. You couldn't have told me in the first place, could you? You had to make me out wrong until it was too late. Now you come sneaking around with your information and your talk about what you have done."
Drouet had never suspected this side of Carrie's nature. She was alive with feeling, her eyes snapping, her lips quivering, her whole body sensible of the injury she felt, and partaking of her wrath.
"Who's sneaking?" he asked, mildly conscious of error on his part, but certain that he was wronged.
"You are," stamped Carrie. "You're a horrid, conceited coward, that's what you are. If you had any sense of manhood in you, you wouldn't have thought of doing any such thing."
The drummer stared.
"I'm not a coward," he said. "What do you mean by going with other men, anyway?"
"Other men!" exclaimed Carrie. "Other men -- you know better than that. I did go with Mr. Hurstwood, but whose fault was it? Didn't you bring him here? You told him yourself that he should come out here and take me out. Now, after it's all over, you come and tell me that I oughtn't to go with him and that he's a married man."
She paused at the sound of the last two words and wrung her hands. The knowledge of Hurstwood's perfidy wounded her like a knife.
"Oh," she sobbed, repressing herself wonderfully and keeping her eyes dry. "Oh, oh!"
"Well, I didn't think you'd be running around with him when I was away," insisted Drouet.
"Didn't think!" said Carrie, now angered to the core by the man's peculiar attitude. "Of course not. You thought only of what would be to your satisfaction. You thought you'd make a toy of me -- a plaything. Well, I'll show you that you won't. I'll have nothing more to do with you at all. You can take your old things and keep them," and unfastening a little pin he had given her, she flung it vigorously upon the floor and began to move about as if to gather up the things which belonged to her.
By this Drouet was not only irritated but fascinated the more. He looked at her in amazement, and finally said:
"I don't see where your wrath comes in. I've got the right of this thing. You oughtn't to have done anything that wasn't right after all I did for you."
"What have you done for me?" asked Carrie blazing, her head thrown back and her lips parted.
"I think I've done a good deal," said the drummer, looking around. "I've given you all the clothes you wanted, haven't I? I've taken you everywhere you wanted to go. You've had as much as I've had, and more too."
Carrie was not ungrateful, whatever else might be said of her. In so far as her mind could construe, she acknowledged benefits received. She hardly knew how to answer this, and yet her wrath was not placated. She felt that the drummer had injured her irreparably.
"Did I ask you to?" she returned.
"Well, I did it," said Drouet, "and you took it."
"You talk as though I had persuaded you," answered Carrie. "You stand there and throw up what you've done. I don't want your old things. I'll not have them. You take them to-night and do what you please with them. I'll not stay here another minute."
"That's nice!" he answered, becoming angered now at the sense of his own approaching loss. "Use everything and abuse me and then walk off. That's just like a woman. I take you when you haven't got anything, and then when some one else comes along, why I'm no good. I always thought it'd come out that way."
He felt really hurt as he thought of his treatment, and looked as if he saw no way of obtaining justice.
"It's not so," said Carrie, "and I'm not going with anybody else. You have been as miserable and inconsiderate as you can be. I hate you, I tell you, and I wouldn't live with you another minute. You're a big, insulting" -- here she hesitated and used no word at all -- "or you wouldn't talk that way."
She had secured her hat and jacket and slipped the latter on over her little evening dress. Some wisps of wavy hair had loosened from the bands at the side of her head and were straggling over her hot, red cheeks. She was angry, mortified, grief-stricken. Her large eyes were full of the anguish of tears, but her lids were not yet wet. She was distracted and uncertain, deciding and doing things without an aim or conclusion, and she had not the slightest conception of how the whole difficulty would end.
"Well, that's a fine finish," said Drouet. "Pack up and pull out, eh? You take the cake. I bet you were knocking around with Hurstwood or you wouldn't act like that. I don't want the old rooms. You needn't pull out for me. You can have them for all I care, but b'George, you haven't done me right."
"I'll not live with you," said Carrie. "I don't want to live with you. You've done nothing but brag around ever since you've been here."
"Aw, I haven't anything of the kind," he answered.
Carrie walked over to the door.
"Where are you going?" he said, stepping over and heading her off.
"Let me out," she said.
"Where are you going?" he repeated.
He was, above all, sympathetic, and the sight of Carrie wandering out, he knew not where, affected him, despite his grievance.
Carrie merely pulled at the door.
The strain of the situation was too much for her, however. She made one more vain effort and then burst into tears.
"Now, be reasonable, Cad," said Drouet gently. "What do you want to rush out for this way? You haven't any place to go. Why not stay here now and be quiet? I'll not bother you. I don't want to stay here any longer."
Carrie had gone sobbing from the door to the window. She was so overcome she could not speak.
"Be reasonable now," he said. "I don't want to hold you. You can go if you want to, but why don't you think it over? Lord knows, I don't want to stop you."
He received no answer. Carrie was quieting, however, under the influence of his plea.
"You stay here now, and I'll go," he added at last.
Carrie listened to this with mingled feelings. Her mind was shaken loose from the little mooring of logic that it had. She was stirred by this thought, angered by that -- her own injustice, Hurstwood's, Drouet's, their respective qualities of kindness and favour, the threat of the world outside, in which she had failed once before, the impossibility of this state inside, where the chambers were no longer justly hers, the effect of the argument upon her nerves, all combined to make her a mass of jangling fibres -- an anchorless, storm-beaten little craft which could do absolutely nothing but drift.
"Say," said Drouet, coming over to her after a few moments, with a new idea, and putting his hand upon her.
"Don't!" said Carrie, drawing away, but not removing her handkerchief from her eyes.
"Never mind about this quarrel now. Let it go. You stay here until the month's out, anyhow, and then you can tell better what you want to do. Eh?"
Carrie made no answer.
"You'd better do that," he said. "There's no use your packing up now. You can't go anywhere."
Still he got nothing for his words.
"If you'll do that, we'll call it off for the present and I'll get out."
Carrie lowered her handkerchief slightly and looked out of the window.
"Will you do that?" he asked.
Still no answer.
"Will you?" he repeated.
She only looked vaguely into the street.
"Aw! come on," he said, "tell me. Will you?"
"I don't know," said Carrie softly, forced to answer.
"Promise me you'll do that," he said, "and we'll quit talking about it. It'll be the best thing for you."
Carrie heard him, but she could not bring herself to answer reasonably. She felt that the man was gentle, and that his interest in her had not abated, and it made her suffer a pang of regret. She was in a most helpless plight.
As for Drouet, his attitude had been that of the jealous lover. Now his feelings were a mixture of anger at deception, sorrow at losing Carrie, misery at being defeated. He wanted his rights in some way or other, and yet his rights included the retaining of Carrie, the making her feel her error.
"Will you?" he urged.
"Well, I'll see," said Carrie.
This left the matter as open as before, but it was something. It looked as if the quarrel would blow over, if they could only get some way of talking to one another. Carrie was ashamed, and Drouet aggrieved. He pretended to take up the task of packing some things in a valise.
Now, as Carrie watched him out of the corner of her eye, certain sound thoughts came into her head. He had erred, true, but what had she done? He was kindly and good-natured for all his egotism. Throughout this argument he had said nothing very harsh. On the other hand there was Hurstwood -- a greater deceiver than he. He had pretended all this affection, all this passion, and he was lying to her all the while. Oh, the perfidy of men! And she had loved him. There could be nothing more in that quarter. She would see Hurstwood no more. She would write him and let him know what she thought. Thereupon what would she do? Here were these rooms. Here was Drouet, pleading for her to remain. Evidently things could go on here somewhat as before, if all were arranged. It would be better than the street, without a place to lay her head.
All this she thought of as Drouet rummaged the drawers for collars and laboured long and painstakingly at finding a shirt-stud. He was in no hurry to rush this matter. He felt an attraction to Carrie which would not down. He could not think that the thing would end by his walking out of the room. There must be some way round, some way to make her own up that he was right and she was wrong -- to patch up a peace and shut out Hurstwood for ever. Mercy how he turned at the man's shameless duplicity.
"Do you think," he said, after a few moments' silence, "that you'll try and get on the stage?"
He was wondering what she was intending.
"I don't know what I'll do yet," said Carrie.
"If you do, maybe I can help you. I've got a lot of friends in that line."
She made no answer to this.
"Don't go and try to knock around now without any money. Let me help you," he said. "It's no easy thing to go on your own hook here."
Carrie only rocked back and forth in her chair.
"I don't want you to go up against a hard game that way."
He bestirred himself about some other details and Carrie rocked on.
"Why don't you tell me all about this thing," he said, after a time, "and let's call it off? You don't really care for Hurstwood, do you?"
"Why do you want to start on that again?" said Carrie. "You were to blame."
"No, I wasn't," he answered.
"Yes, you were, too," said Carrie. "You shouldn't have ever told me such a story as that."
"But you didn't have much to do with him, did you?" went on Drouet, anxious for his own peace of mind to get some direct denial from her.
"I won't talk about it," said Carrie, pained at the quizzical turn the peace arrangement had taken.
"What's the use of acting like that now, Cad?" insisted the drummer, stopping in his work and putting up a hand expressively. "You might let me know where I stand, at least."
"I won't," said Carrie, feeling no refuge but in anger. "Whatever has happened is your own fault."
"Then you do care for him?" said Drouet, stopping completely and experiencing a rush of feeling.
"Oh, stop!" said Carrie.
"Well, I'll not be made a fool of," exclaimed Drouet. "You may trifle around with him if you want to, but you can't lead me. You can tell me or not, just as you want to, but I won't fool any longer!"
He shoved the last few remaining things. he had laid out into his valise and snapped it with a vengeance. Then he grabbed his coat, which he had laid off to work, picked up his gloves, and started out.
"You can go to the deuce as far as I am concerned," he said, as he reached the door. "I'm no sucker," and with that he opened it with a jerk and closed it equally vigorously.
Carrie listened at her window view, more astonished than anything else at this sudden rise of passion in the drummer. She could hardly believe her senses -- so good-natured and tractable had he invariably been. It was not for her to see the wellspring of human passion. A real flame of love is a subtle thing. It burns as a will-o'-the-wisp, dancing onward to fairy lands of delight. It roars as a furnace. Too often jealousy is the quality upon which it feeds.
等到嘉莉回到家，她又为种种疑虑和担心所困扰。这是缺乏决断的结果。她无法确信自己的允诺是适当的，也无法肯定在作出了这个承诺以后自己是否该信守诺言。离开赫斯渥以后，她把这件事又细细想了一遍，发现了好些在经理热烈说服时她没有想到的小问题。她意识到自己的处境有点不尴不尬--一方面她让人把自己看做已婚女子，另一方面她又答应嫁人。她又想起杜洛埃为她做的好事来，不禁觉得这样不声不响离他而去，像是在做坏事似的。她现在生活安定，这对一个多多少少害怕艰难世道的人来说，是一个至关紧要的问题。这一考虑也向她提出了一些奇怪荒唐的异议来：“你不知道这件事会有什么后果。外面的世界充满着不幸和苦恼，有靠要饭乞讨为生的人，还有命运气惨的妇女。你永远无法知道什么事会落到你头上。别忘了你没饭吃的那些日子。你现在得到的东西应该牢牢把握才对。”说也奇怪，尽管她倾心于赫斯渥，他却没能在理智上也牢牢控制她。她倾听着，微笑着，赞赏着，但是最后却不能苟同。 这要怪他缺少激情的力量，缺少那种辉煌无比的激情。这种激情可以令人神魂颠倒，可以把各种异议假设都熔化融合成一团缠结难理的情结，使理智和思维能力暂时被摧毁。几乎每个人一生中都曾有一次拥有过这种辉煌的激情。但这往往是青年人的特点，最后导致人生中第一次成功的婚姻。
赫斯渥年纪已经不轻。尽管他确实还拥有一份热烈到丧失理智的激情，却很难说他还保存着青春的火焰。这份激情还可以引起女人的倾慕，这一点我们已经在嘉莉身上看到了。也许我们可以说嘉莉以为自己爱上了他，实际上她并没有。女人往往都是这样的。这是因为希望获得爱情，渴望为人所爱，得到被爱的快乐是每个女人的倾向。女性的特点之一是渴望得到庇护、提高和同情。再加上女人的情感丰富，天生易动感情，使她们往往难以拒绝男人的求爱，于是她们就自以为自己是在恋爱了。
一到家，她就换了衣服，自己动手收拾房间。在家具布置方面，她和女仆的观点总是相左。那个年轻的女仆总爱把一把摇椅放在房间的角落里，嘉莉总是把摇椅再搬出来。今天她只顾想心事，几乎没有注意到椅子又放错了位置。她在房间里忙来忙去，一直忙到杜洛埃５点钟回家。这个推销员脸涨得通红。神情激动，下决心要弄清她和赫斯渥的全部关系。不过，他整整一天都在脑子里翻来覆去想这个问题，漫长的一天下来，他已经想得有点厌倦了，只希望尽快把这问题了结算了。
他并没有预见到会产生什么严重后果，然而他踌躇着不知如何开口。他进来时嘉莉正坐在窗前的摇椅里，边摇晃着摇椅，边看着窗外。
“咦，”她天真地说，这当儿她想心事已经想烦了，看到他匆匆忙忙的样子和难以掩饰的激动神情不由感到奇怪，“你为什么这么慌慌张张的？”杜洛埃迟疑起来。现在和她面面相对，他却不知道该怎么办。他毫无外交家的素质，既不善窥探人的内心思想又不会观察细枝末节。
“你什么时候回来的？”他傻乎乎地问。
“噢，大概个把小时前。你问这个干什么？”“今早我回来时，你不在家，”他说，“因此我想你出去了。”“是啊，”嘉莉简单地回答说，“我去散步了。”
杜洛埃惊讶地看着她。尽管他在这种事上并不怕失了面子，他还是不知道如何开口。他直瞪瞪地看着她，不加一点掩饰，于是她终于开口问道：“你为什么这么看着我？出了什么事了？”“没什么，”他回答说，“我只是在想心事。”“想什么心事？”她微笑地问道，被他的态度弄糊涂了。
“嗯，没什么--没什么了不起的事。”
“那你脸上的神气怎么怪怪的呢？”
杜洛埃站在梳妆台旁边，神情可笑地凝视着她。他已经脱下帽子和手套，现在正摆弄着离他最近的那些小化妆品。他不太相信眼前这个秀丽的姑娘会做出让他不满的事情来。他很乐意相信一切正常，并没有发生什么事情。可是女仆告诉他的消息刺痛着他的心。他想直截了当地提出这事，但是不知道该说什么。
“今天上午你到哪里去了？”他终于问道，他的话毫无份量。
“我去散步了，”嘉莉说。
“真是去散步吗？”他问。
“是啊，你为什么要这样问？”
她现在看出他已经听到了什么风声，所以她的态度立刻变得含蓄保留，她的脸色也变得苍白了。
“我想你也许不是去散步的，”他徒劳无益地旁敲侧击说。
嘉莉注视着他。这一注视使她正在消失的勇气又开始恢复一点了。她看出他并没有多少信心，凭一个女人的直觉，她感到没有必要惊慌失措。
“你为什么这样说？”她皱起美丽的额头问道。“你今晚的举动太奇怪了。”“我感到心里不自在，”他答道。
他们互相注视了一会儿。杜洛埃开始变得不顾一切，直截了当地提出了自己的问题：“你和赫斯渥是怎么一回事？”他问道。
“我和赫斯渥？你是什么意思？”
“我不在的时候他来了十几次，是不是？”“十几次，”嘉莉心虚地重复道，“不，没有。你是什么意思？”“有人说，你和他一起坐马车出去兜风，还说他每天晚上都来这里。”“没有这种事，”嘉莉答道，“这不是真的。谁告诉你的？”她脸涨得通红，一直红到了头发根。可是由于屋里的光线已经变得昏暗，杜洛埃并没有看出她的脸色的变化。既然嘉莉矢口否认，为自己辩解，他对嘉莉的信赖又大大恢复了。
“嗯，反正有人告诉我，”他说。“你肯定没有吗？”“当然肯定，”嘉莉说。“你自己也知道他来过几次。”杜洛埃想了一会儿。
“我只知道你告诉我的那几次，”他终于说。
他紧张不安地在屋里走来走去。嘉莉在一旁狼狈地看着他。
“嗯，我知道我没有跟你说过这样的话，”嘉莉恢复了镇定说道。
“如果我是你的话。”杜洛埃没有去注意她的最后一句话，自顾自地说下去，“我是不会和他有任何瓜葛的。你知道，他是个结了婚的男人。”“谁--谁结了婚？“嘉莉结结巴巴地问。
“当然是赫斯渥啊，”杜洛埃答道。他注意到了这话的效果，感到自己这一下显然给了她一个打击。
“赫斯渥！”嘉莉叫着站了起来。听了这个消息，她的脸色变了好几次。她茫然地看着四周，想着心事。
“这是谁告诉你的？”她问道，完全没想到她不该对这个消息露出关切，这不合她的身份，这么问简直是不打自招了。
“怎么，这事我知道。我一向知道的，”杜洛埃说。
嘉莉正试图从迷茫的思绪中理出一个头绪来。她的样子可怜兮兮的，然而在她心中油然而生的各种感情中却没有一丝令人精神崩溃的怯意。
“我想我告诉过你了。”他又补充说。
“不，你没有告诉过我，”她反驳说，她的说话能力突然恢复了。“你根本就没有提到过一丁点这类事情。”杜洛埃吃惊地听她说话，感到她的话里有点新东西。
“我记得我说过的，”他说。
嘉莉非常庄重地四周看看，然后走到窗子边去。
“你不该和他有来往的，”杜洛埃委屈地说，“你也不想想我给你帮了多少忙。”“你，你！”嘉莉说，“你给我帮了什么忙？”各种矛盾的情感在她的小脑袋瓜里汹涌起伏--为事情的暴露而羞愧，为赫斯渥的背信弃义感到耻辱，又为杜洛埃的欺瞒和他现在对她的嘲笑感到气恼。在她思想中有一点现在是明确的了：这事都怪他不好。这是毫无疑问的了。他为什么要把赫斯渥介绍给她--赫斯渥，一个已婚男人，却从来没有提醒她一声？现在先别管赫斯渥的背理悖行--他为什么要这样做？他为什么不警告她一声？他明明可耻地辜负了她对他的一片信赖，现在却还站在那里，高谈他给她帮的忙！
“好哇，你说的倒有意思，”杜洛埃嚷道，一点没想到自己刚才的话已经激怒了嘉莉。“我想我已经为你帮过不少忙了。”“你帮了我吗？”她回答说，“你欺骗了我，这就是你帮的忙。你用虚假的名义把你的那些狐朋狗党带到这里来。你把我变成了--呵！”说到这里她的声音哽咽了，悲伤地把她的一双小手紧紧合在一起。
“我看不出这和你的事有什么联系，”杜洛埃说道，他感到莫名其妙。
“不错，”她恢复了平静，咬牙切齿地说，“不错，你当然看不出了。你什么东西也看不出来。你不能一开始就告诉我，是吗？你一定要让我出了丑，事情弄得不可收拾了才告诉我。现在你又拿你得到的消息鬼鬼祟祟地来盘问我，还要大谈你给我帮的忙。”杜洛埃从来没想到嘉莉的性格中还有这一面。她情绪激动，两眼冒火，嘴唇颤抖着，全身心感到自己受了伤害而怒气满腔。
“谁鬼鬼祟祟来了？”他反问道，微微有点愧疚，但是认定自己受了冤枉。
“就是你，”嘉莉跺着脚说，“你是个自高自大、讨厌透顶的胆小鬼。你就是这样的人。你如果有点男子汉大丈夫的气概，你就不会想到要干这种事。”推销员目瞪口呆了。
“我不是胆小鬼，”他说。“不管怎么说，你和别的男人来往又是什么意思？”“别的男人！”嘉莉叫了起来。“别的男人--你自己心里明白是怎么一回事。我确实和赫斯渥出去了，可是这要怪谁不好？不是你把他带到这里来的吗？你自己告诉他，让他来这里带我出去玩。现在玩过了，你倒跑来对我说，我不该和他来往的，他是有妇之夫。”她说到“有妇之夫”就说不下去了，痛苦地扭曲着双手。赫斯渥欺骗她的消息像一把刀捅到了她的心里。
“呵，呵！”她抽泣着，但是竭力克制着，眼睛里竟然还没有冒出泪水，“呵，呵！”“嗯，我没有想到我不在时你会和他交往密切，”杜洛埃固执地说。
“没想到！”嘉莉说，她现在让这个家伙的古怪态度彻底激怒了。“你当然想不到了，你只想得到一厢情愿的事情。你只想到把我当作你的玩物--一个玩具。哼，我要让你知道这办不到。我要和你一刀两断。把你那些破玩意儿拿回去吧，我不要了。”她说着摘下了他送给她的一个小饰针，用力扔到地上。
然后在屋里走来走去，像是要收拾属于她的东西。
她的举动不仅让杜洛埃恼火，也让他进一步迷住了。他吃惊地看着她，终于说道：“我不明白你的怒气是从哪里来的。这件事是我有理。你看在我为你做的一切的份上，不应该做对不起我的事。”“你为我做了什么事情？”嘉莉问。她仰着头，张着嘴，火直往外冒。
“我看我做的不算少了。”推销员说着看了看四周。“你要的所有衣服，我都给你买了。对不对？我还带你去逛了你想逛的所有地方。我有的，你也有。而且你的东西比我的还多。”不管怎么说，嘉莉不是忘恩负义的人。从理智上来说，她当然认识到杜洛埃给她的好处。她几乎不知道该如何来回答他，然而她的怒气并没有气息。她感到杜洛埃已经给她造成了无法弥补的伤害。
“是我问你要的吗？”她反问道。
“嗯，是我送的，”杜洛埃说，“但是你接受了！”“听你说话的口气，好像是我问你讨的，”嘉莉说，“你站在那里唠唠叨叨吹嘘你为我做的事。我不要你这些玩意了，我不要了。你今晚就拿走，你爱拿这些东西怎么办，就怎么办好了。
这里一分钟我也不想呆了。”
“这倒真有意思！”他答道，想到自己即将蒙受的损失生气了。“东西用过了，然后把我大骂一通，准备拍拍起股走路了。
真是典型的女人作风。你一无所有的时候我收留了你。好，等你遇到别人了，我就一无是处了。我早就知道会有这种结果。”想到自己对她这么好，却落到这下场，他确实很伤心，真是天理何在。
“不是这么回事，”嘉莉说，“我并不是要和别人私奔。是你让人难受，一点不体恤人。我恨你。我告诉你，我不想和你住在一起了。你是个侮辱人的大--”说到这里她打住了，迟疑着没有说出骂人的话，“否则你就不会这么对我说话了。”她已拿了她的帽子和外套，把外套套在单薄的晚装上。几绺卷发从头一侧的发带里掉了出来，在她红得发烧的脸颊上晃荡。她又气又愧，非常地伤心，大眼睛里已经蕴满了痛苦的热泪，不过还没有掉下来。她心烦意乱，束手无策，没有目的也没有结果地东摸摸西想想，不知这场争吵会怎么收常“好哇，这样结束倒不错，”杜洛埃说，“想卷铺盖走了，是不是？你真行埃我敢打赌，你和赫斯渥打得火热，否则你不会这样做的。这房子我不要了。你不用为了我搬走。你可以继续住这里，我才不在乎呢。但是老天爷在上，你对不起我。”“我再也不和你住在一起了，”嘉莉说。“我不愿意和你一起生活了。自从来这里以后，你什么也不干，就会自吹自擂。”“哇，根本没这回事，”他回答。
嘉莉朝门口走去。
“你到哪里去？”他说着大步走了过来，拦住了她。
“让我出去，”她说。
“你去哪里？”他又问了一遍。
他这人特别富有同情心。所以虽然满腹委屈，但是看到嘉莉要离家出走，不知会飘零到哪里去，心就不由得软了。
嘉莉不回答，只是去拉门。
这局面实在太让她受不了了。她又徒劳地拉了一下门以后，再也忍不住了，就放声哭了起来。
“好了，嘉德，你理智一点，”杜洛埃柔声说道。“你这么冲出去有什么好处呢？你没有什么地方好去。何不就留在这里，安静下来呢？我不打扰你，我不想再留在这里了。”嘉莉抽抽搭搭地从门边走到窗前，哭得说不出话来了。
“理智一点嘛，”他说，“我并不是要阻拦你。你想走你就走好了。但何不把这事先仔细想想呢？老天在上，我绝没有拦你的意思。"他没有得到回答，不过他的请求让她安静下来了。
“你留在这里，我走，”他终于又补充说。
嘉莉听着他的话，心里百感交集。就像小船失去了锚，她的思绪毫无逻辑地四处漂浮，一会为这个想法难受，一会为那个念头生气。她想到自己的不是，赫斯渥的不是，杜洛埃的不是，又想到他们各自对自己的情意和帮助。她想到出外谋生的艰难--她已经失败过一次了。她又想到不可能再留在这里了，她已经没有资格住在这些房间里了。这些思绪再加上吵架给神经带来的压力，使她的思想就像一团乱麻，理不出个头绪来--一条没有锚的小船受风雨的摆布，除了随波逐流，无能为力。
这样过了几分钟，杜洛埃有了个新主意。他走过来，把手搭在她身上，开口说，“这样吧--”“别碰我！”嘉莉说着挪开身子，但是仍用手帕捂着眼睛。
“现在别去管吵嘴这回事了，把它放一边去吧。不管怎样，你可以在这里住到月底。然后你可以想想怎么办好一点。怎么样？"嘉莉没有回答。
“你最好就这么办，”他说，“你现在收拾行李离开，一点用处也没有。你无处可去。”他仍然没得到回答。
“如果你同意这么办，我们暂时就不谈了。我搬出去祝”嘉莉从眼睛上微微取下手帕，看着窗外。
“你愿意这么做吗？”他问道。
仍然没有回答。
“你愿意吗？”他重复道。
她只是茫然地看着窗外的马路。
“喂，说话呀，”他说，“告诉我，你愿意吗？”“我不知道，”嘉莉迫不得已地轻声说。
“答应我，就照我说的做。”他说，“我们就不再谈这件事了。这样做对你是最好的。”嘉莉听着他的话，但是没法理智地回答他。她感觉得到他对她很温柔，他对她的兴趣并没有减弱，这使她一阵内疚。她真是左右为难。
至于杜洛埃，他的态度是一个妒忌的情人的态度。他的感情很复杂，为受骗生气，为失去嘉莉难过，为自己的失败伤心。
他想以某种方法重获他的权利，然而他的权利包括继续拥有嘉莉，并且让她承认自己错了。
“你答应吗？”他催促道。
“嗯，让我想想，”嘉莉说。
虽然这回答仍模棱两可，但是比刚才的回答进了一步。看起来，如果他们能想个法子聊聊的话，这场争吵就会过去了。
嘉莉感到羞愧，杜洛埃感到委屈。他开始假装往旅行箱里装东西。
现在，当嘉莉用眼角打量他时，她的脑子里开始有了正确一点的想法。不错，他是有错，可是她自己干的又算什么事呢？
他尽管一心想着自己，但是他和气，善良，心眼好。在这场争吵中从头到尾他没有说过一句严厉的话。另一方面，那个赫斯渥是个更大的骗子。他的温柔和激情全是装出来的，他一直在对她撒谎。啊，男人的奸诈！而她竟然会爱他。当然现在一点爱也谈不上了，她现在再不会和赫斯渥见面了。她要写信给他，把她的想法告诉他。那么，她该怎么办呢？这里的房子还在，杜洛埃仍在恳求她留下来。显然，如果一切安排妥当，她还可以像以往那样住在这里。这要比流落街头无处栖身好得多。
她脑子里在想着这一切时，杜洛埃在翻箱倒柜地寻找他的衬衫领子。他又化了不少时间，才找到了一个衬衫的饰扣。
他并不急于收拾行李。他感到嘉莉的吸引力并没有减弱。他无法想象他和嘉莉的关系会随着他走出这个房间而告终。一定会有什么解决的办法，有什么办法能让她承认自己不好，承认他是对的--他们就可以言归于好，把赫斯渥永远排除出去了。老天啊，这个家伙的无耻的欺骗行为，实在让人恶心。
“你是不是在想上舞台试试？”沉默了几分钟以后，他问道。
他猜测着她有什么打算。
“我还不知道我会做什么，”嘉莉说。
“如果你想上舞台，也许我能帮助你。那一行里我有不少朋友。”她没有回答。
“不要身无分文地出外闯荡。让我帮助你，”他说，“在这里独自谋生不容易。”嘉莉只是坐在摇椅里摇着。
“我不愿意你这样出去遇到重重困难。”
他又提出了一些别的细节问题，但是嘉莉继续在摇椅里摇着。
过了一会儿，他又说道：“你把这件事都告诉我，我们把这事了结了，不好吗？你并不爱赫斯渥，对不对？”“你为什么又开始提这件事？”嘉莉说，“都怪你不好。”“不！不怪我，”他回答说。
“没错，你也有不是，”嘉莉说，“你为什么对我撒那样的谎呢？”“但是你并没有和他有多少瓜葛，是不是？”杜洛埃又问，他急于听到嘉莉的直截了当的否定，这样他才可以感到安心。
“我不想谈这件事，”嘉莉说。这样盘问她来达成和解，实在让她痛苦。
“嘉德，你这样做有什么用处呢？”推销员固执地问。他停止收拾行李，富有表情地举起一只手：“你至少该让我知道我现在的地位。”“我不愿意说，”嘉莉回答。她感到除了发脾气，她无法躲闪。“不管发生了什么事，都要怪你不好。”“那么说，你确实爱他了？”杜洛埃说。他这次完全停下手来，感到一阵怒气上涌。
“别说了！”嘉莉说。
“哼，我可不愿意做傻瓜，”杜洛埃叫道，“你想和他鬼混，你就去和他鬼混好了。我可不会让你牵着鼻子走。你愿意告诉我也好，不愿意告诉我也好，随你的便。反正我不想再当傻瓜了。”他把已经找出来的最后几件东西一下子塞进旅行箱，怒冲冲地啪地关上盖子。然后他一把抓起为了理行李脱掉的外套，捡起手套，就往外走。
“对我来说，你见鬼去吧，”走到门边时，他说道。“我可不是吃奶的小孩子。”说着他猛地拉开门，出去时，又猛力关上门。
嘉莉坐在窗边听着这一切，对于推销员的突然发怒感到非常吃惊。她简直不敢相信自己的眼睛和耳朵--他一直是一个那么善良和气的人。她当然不懂得人类强烈情感的来源。
真正的爱情之火是一种微妙的东西。它会像磷火那样发出捉摸不定的光芒，跳跃着飞向欢乐的仙境。可是它也会像熔炉里的火焰一样熊熊燃烧。而妒忌往往为爱情之火的迸发提供了燃料。
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Chapter 24 ASHES OF TINDER: A FACE AT THE WINDOW
That night Hurstwood remained down town entirely, going to the Palmer House for a bed after his work was through. He was in a fevered state of mind, owing to the blight his wife's action threatened to cast upon his entire future. While he was not sure how much significance might be attached to the threat she had made, he was sure that her attitude, if long continued, would cause him no end of trouble. She was determined, and had worsted him in a very important contest. How would it be from now on? He walked the floor of his little office, and later that of his room, putting one thing and another together to no avail.
Mrs. Hurstwood, on the contrary, had decided not to lose her advantage by inaction. Now that she had practically cowed him, she would follow up her work with demands, the acknowledgment of which would make her word law in the future. He would have to pay her the money which she would now regularly demand or there would be trouble. It did not matter what he did. She really did not care whether he came home any more or not. The household would move along much more pleasantly without him, and she could do as she wished without consulting any one. Now she proposed to consult a lawyer and hire a detective. She would find out at once just what advantages she could gain.
Hurstwood walked the floor, mentally arranging the chief points of his situation. "She has that property in her name," he kept saying to himself. "What a fool trick that was. Curse it! What a fool move that was."
He also thought of his managerial position. "If she raises a row now I'll lose this thing. They won't have me around if my name gets in the papers. My friends, too!" He grew more angry as he thought of the talk any action on her part would create. How would the papers talk about it? Every man he knew would be wondering. He would have to explain and deny and make a general mark of himself. Then Moy would come and confer with him and there would be the devil to pay.
Many little wrinkles gathered between his eyes as he contemplated this, and his brow moistened. He saw no solution of anything -- not a loophole left.
Through all this thoughts of Carrie flashed upon him, and the approaching affair of Saturday. Tangled as all his matters were, he did not worry over that. It was the one pleasing thing in this whole rout of trouble. He could arrange that satisfactorily, for Carrie would be glad to wait, if necessary. He would see how things turned out to-morrow, and then he would talk to her. They were going to meet as usual. He saw only her pretty face and neat figure and wondered why life was not arranged so that such joy as he found with her could be steadily maintained. How much more pleasant it would be. Then he would take up his wife's threat again, and the wrinkles and moisture would return.
In the morning he came over from the hotel and opened his mail, but there was nothing in it outside the ordinary run. For some reason he felt as if something might come that way, and was relieved when all the envelopes had been scanned and nothing suspicious noticed. He began to feel the appetite that had been wanting before he had reached the office, and decided before going out to the park to meet Carrie to drop in at the Grand Pacific and have a pot of coffee and some rolls. While the danger had not lessened, it had not as yet materialised, and with him no news was good news. If he could only get plenty of time to think, perhaps something would turn up. Surely, surely, this thing would not drift along to catastrophe and he not find a way out.
His spirits fell, however, when, upon reaching the park, he waited and waited and Carrie did not come. He held his favourite post for an hour or more, then arose and began to walk about restlessly. Could something have happened out there to keep her away? Could she have been reached by his wife? Surely not. So little did he consider Drouet that it never once occurred to him to worry about his finding out. He grew restless as he ruminated, and then decided that perhaps it was nothing. She had not been able to get away this morning. That was why no letter notifying him had come. He would get one today. It would probably be on his desk when he got back. He would look for it at once.
After a time he gave up waiting and drearily headed for the Madison car. To add to his distress, the bright blue sky became overcast with little fleecy clouds which shut out the sun. The wind veered to the east, and by the time he reached his office it was threatening to drizzle all afternoon.
He went in and examined his letters, but there was nothing from Carrie. Fortunately, there was nothing from his wife either. He thanked his stars that he did not have to confront that proposition just now when he needed to think so much. He walked the floor again, pretending to be in an ordinary mood, but secretly troubled beyond the expression of words.
At one-thirty he went to Rector's for lunch, and when he returned a messenger was waiting for him. He looked at the little chap with a feeling of doubt.
"I'm to bring an answer," said the boy.
Hurstwood recognised his wife's writing. He tore it open and read without a show of feeling. It began in the most formal manner and was sharply and coldly worded throughout.
"I want you to send the money I asked for at once. I need it to carry out my plans. You can stay away if you want to. It doesn't matter in the least. I must have some money. So don't delay, but send it by the boy."
When he had finished it, he stood holding it in his hands. The audacity of the thing took his breath. It roused his ire also -- the deepest element of revolt in him. His first impulse was to write but four words in reply -- "Go to the devil!" -- but he compromised by telling the boy that there would be no reply. Then he sat down in his chair and gazed without seeing, contemplating the result of his work. What would she do about that? The confounded wretch! Was she going to try to bulldoze him into submission? He would go up there and have it out with her, that's what he would do. She was carrying things with too high a hand. These were his first thoughts.
Later, however, his old discretion asserted itself. Something had to be done. A climax was near and she would not sit idle. He knew her well enough to know that when she had decided upon a plan she would follow it up. Possibly matters would go into a lawyer's hands at once.
"Damn her!" he said softly, with his teeth firmly set, "I'll make it hot for her if she causes me trouble. I'll make her change her tone if I have to use force to do it!"
He arose from his chair and went and looked out into the street. The long drizzle had begun. Pedestrians had turned up collars, and trousers at the bottom. Hands were hidden in the pockets of the umbrellaless; umbrellas were up. The street looked like a sea of round black cloth roofs, twisting, bobbing, moving. Trucks and vans were rattling in a noisy line and everywhere men were shielding themselves as best they could. He scarcely noticed the picture. He was forever confronting his wife, demanding of her to change her attitude toward him before he worked her bodily harm.
At four o'clock another note came, which simply said that if the money was not forthcoming that evening the matter would be laid before Fitzgerald and Moy on the morrow, and other steps would be taken to get it.
Hurstwood almost exclaimed out loud at the insistency of this thing. Yes, he would send her the money. He'd take it to her -- he would go up there and have a talk with her, and that at once.
He put on his hat and looked around for his umbrella. He would have some arrangement of this thing.
He called a cab and was driven through the dreary rain to the North Side. On the way his temper cooled as he thought of the details of the case. What did she know? What had she done? Maybe she'd got hold of Carrie, who knows -- or Drouet. Perhaps she really had evidence, and was prepared to fell him as a man does another from secret ambush. She was shrewd. Why should she taunt him this way unless she had good grounds?
He began to wish that he had compromised in some way or other -- that he had sent the money. Perhaps he could do it up here. He would go in and see, anyhow. He would have no row.
By the time he reached his own street he was keenly alive to the difficulties of his situation and wished over and over that some solution would offer itself, that he could see his way out. He alighted and went up the steps to the front door, but it was with a nervous palpitation of the heart. He pulled out his key and tried to insert it, but another key was on the inside. He shook at the knob, but the door was locked. Then he rang the bell. No answer. He rang again -- this time harder. Still no answer. He jangled it fiercely several times in succession, but without avail. Then he went below.
There was a door which opened under the steps into the kitchen, protected by an iron grating, intended as a safeguard against burglars. When he reached this he noticed that it also was bolted and that the kitchen windows were down. What could it mean? He rang the bell and then waited. Finally, seeing that no one was coming, he turned and went back to his cab.
"I guess they've gone out," he said apologetically to the individual who was hiding his red face in a loose tarpaulin rain-coat.
"I saw a young girl up in that winder," returned the cabby.
Hurstwood looked, but there was no face there now. He climbed moodily into the cab, relieved and distressed.
So this was the game, was it? Shut him out and make him pay. Well, by the Lord, that did beat all!
那天晚上赫斯渥整晚都留在商业区，没有回家。下班以后他到帕尔默旅馆过夜。他太太的行为对他的未来和前途造成了可怕的威胁，这使他心里火烧火燎的。尽管他还不知道应该如何估量她的威胁，他已肯定她这种态度如果继续下去，会给他带来无穷无尽的麻烦。她已经铁了心，而且在一次重要的交锋中击败了他。从今以后事情会怎么样呢？他在他的小办公室里踱来踱去，后来又在旅馆的房间里踱来踱去，把各种情况都考虑到了，就是一筹莫展。 另一方面，赫斯渥太太下了决心，不肯因为无所作为而失去她业已取得的优势。现在她既已将他吓倒，她要乘胜追击，提出她的种种要求。只要他让步接受了她的条件，那么今后她的话就成了家里的法律。她要不断地向他要钱，他不给也得给。不然的话，就让他吃不了兜着走。他的任何举动现在都无足轻重。他今后回不回家她才不在乎呢。他不来家，这个家里的一切反而愉快和谐。她可以随心所欲，不用征求任何人的意见。她打算要找律师咨询，还打算雇一个侦探。她要立刻弄明白她从中可以得到什么好处。
赫斯渥在屋里踱步，心里估量着他的处境的主要方面。
“产业在她的名下，”他不断对自己说，“这一招真是愚蠢之极。
该死！这一步走得太蠢了。”
他又想到了他的经理的职位。“如果她现在弄得满城风雨，我的一切就完了。假如我的名字上了报纸，他们会把我解雇了。而且我那些朋友们！”想到她采取的任何步骤都会造成流言蜚语，他心里更气恼了。报纸会怎么说呢？每个熟人都会在心里犯嘀咕。他将不得不向他们解释和否认，使自己成为众人的话柄。接着莫埃就会来和他商量，这一来他的前途就不堪设想了。
想到这一切，他的眉头间聚起了许多细细的皱纹，额头也汗湿了。他想不出有什么出路--连一条缝隙也没有。
这期间，嘉莉和即将来临的星期六的安排不时在他脑海里闪过。尽管他的处境已经一团糟，他并不为他和嘉莉的关系担心。这是他在困境中唯一令人欣慰的事。他可以把这件事安排得称心如意。因为如果有必要的话，嘉莉会乐意等待的。
他要看明天情况而定。然后他会和她谈谈。他们会像往常一样见面。他在脑海里只看见她的美丽的脸和匀称的体态。奇怪，生活为什么不作美，为什么不让他永远享有和她共同生活的欢乐。如果他能如愿的话，生活会比现在美满得多。这又令他想起他太太的威胁，于是皱纹和冷汗又回到了他的脸上。
早上他从旅馆来到了店里，打开他的信件。但是这些都只是通常那类信件。不知为什么，他有个感觉，觉得邮局会送来什么坏消息。因此当他仔细看了信件，没有发现什么令人疑心的信时，心里松了一口气。来办公室的路上他一点胃口也没有。现在他的胃口又恢复了，因此他决定在去小公园和嘉莉见面之前，顺路先拐到太平洋大饭店去喝上一杯咖啡，吃上几个小圆面包。到目前为止，他的危险并没有减少分毫，但是也还没有成为现实。在他目前的思想状态中，没有消息就是好消息了。只要他有足够的时间思考，他也许会想出什么法子来的。
事情不可能演变成一场大灾难。他一定会找到一条出路的。
但是，当他来到公园等嘉莉，一等再等仍不见她的人影时，他的情绪又低落了。他在他心爱的地点等了足足一个多小时，然后他站起来，开始心神不宁地在周围走来走去。会不会那里出了什么事使她来不了？他的妻子会不会去找她？肯定不会。他压根没有把杜洛埃放在心上，所以他一点没往那方面想，没担心他会发现真相。他左思右想，越来越坐立不安。随后他又猜想，也许没有什么大不了的，也许只是她今天临时走不开而已。所以他没有收到信，通知他来不了。今天他会收到一封信的。他回去时，说不定已有信在办公桌上等他了。他必须马上回去看看有没有她的信。
过了一会儿，他放弃了等待，无精打采地到麦迪生大道坐街车。刚才还是灿烂的晴空，现在布满了小片小片的白云，把太阳遮住了，这使得他的情绪更为低落。风向转而朝东，等他回到酒店写字间时，天已经是阴沉沉的，看样子毛毛雨会整个下午淅沥淅沥下个没完。
他走进酒店，查看他的信件，但是没有嘉莉的信。不过他感到庆幸的是，也没有他太太的信。谢天谢地，他还不必去面对那个难题，眼下他有那么多事要考虑。他又踱来踱去，外表装得和平常一样，但是内心的焦虑却难以言传。
一点半的时候，他去雷克脱饭店吃午饭。等他回来时，一个信差正在恭候他。他心怀疑虑地打量了一下送信的小家伙。
“要回条，”小伙子说。
赫斯渥认出是他太太的笔迹。他撕开信，面无表情地看了信。信的格式一本正经，从头到尾的措辞极其尖刻冷淡：我要的钱请即刻送来，我需要这笔钱实施我的计划。
你不回家，由你自便。这无关紧要。但是钱必须给我。不要拖延。让信差把钱带来。
他读完了信，还手里拿着信站在那里。这封信的肆无忌惮的口气让他大吃一惊，也激起了他的怒火--他的最强烈的反抗情绪。他的第一个冲动是写四个字回敬：“见鬼去吧！"但是他克制了这个冲动，告诉信差没有回条，作为一种折衷。然后他在椅子里坐下来，两眼呆视着，思忖着这么做的后果。这样一来，她会采取什么步骤呢？该死的东西！她想把他压服吗？
他要回去和她吵个明白。他就要这么办。她太专横了。这些是他最初的想法。
不过他的一贯的谨慎作风接着又抬了头。必须想个法子才行。危机已经迫在眉睫，她不会善罢甘休的。其他对她的了解，他深知她一旦下了决心，就会一竿子走到底。有可能她会把这件事立刻交到律师手里。
“该死的女人！”他咬牙切齿地骂道。“如果她找我麻烦，我也要给她点颜色看看。我要让她改改说话的腔调，哪怕要动拳头！”他从椅子上站起身来，走到窗边看着外面的街道。绵绵的细雨已经开始下了。行人们竖起了外套衣领，卷起了裤脚边。
没带伞的人把手插在衣服口袋里，带了伞的人高高举着桑街上成了一片圆圆的黑布伞面的海洋，翻滚起伏着，往前移动着。敞篷和有篷的运货马车嘈杂地鱼贯而行，发出嘎拉嘎拉的响声。到处有人在尽量躲雨。可是赫斯渥几乎没有注意到眼前的景象。在他的想象中，他一直在和他妻子正面交锋，强迫她改变态度，免得皮肉吃苦。
４点时，他又收到了一张条子，上面简单地说，如果当晚钱没有送到，明天费茨杰拉德和莫埃先生就会得知此事。还会采取其他的步骤。
赫斯渥看到她这么步步紧逼气得几乎要嚷了出来。是的，他必须把钱给她，他要亲自送去，他要去那里和她谈谈，而且得马上去。
他戴上帽子，四处找桑对这事他要作出安排。
他叫了辆马车。马车载着他穿过阴沉沉的雨幕驶向北区。
在路上，他想到这事情的许多细节，情绪开始冷静下来。她知道些什么？她已经采取了什么步骤？也许她已经找到了嘉莉，谁知道呢--或者找到了杜洛埃。也许她确实掌握了证据，正暗中设下埋伏，准备对他来个突然袭击，像男人之间所做的那样。她是个精明的人。除非她确实有了证据，不然她怎么会对他这样辱骂呢？
他开始懊悔他没有用某种方法和她达成妥协--没有早送钱去。也许他现在去还来得及。无论如何，他要回去看看情况。他不想和她大吵大闹。
等他到了他家所在的那条街时，他充分意识到他的处境的种种为难，一次次盼望某个解决办法从天而降，给他一条出路。他下了车，上了台阶，走到前门，紧张得心砰砰乱跳。他掏出钥匙，想把钥匙插进锁里，但是从里面已经插了一把钥匙。
他摇了摇门把手，但是门锁住了。他去摇门铃，没有人应门。他又摇门铃，这次更用力了。仍然没有反应。他又一连几次使劲地摇门铃，但是一点用处也没有。于是他走下台阶。
台阶下有一扇门通到厨房，门上装着铁栅栏，是用于防盗的。他走到这扇门跟前，发现门上了闩，厨房的窗子也放下了。
这是什么意思？他又摇响了门铃，然后等在那里。最后，看到没人来给他开门，他转身朝马车走去。
“我猜想他们都出门了，”他抱歉地对马车夫说。马车夫正用他宽大的防水雨衣遮着自己的红脸。
“我看见上面窗子里有个年轻的姑娘，”马车夫回答说。
赫斯渥朝上看了看，但是那里已经看不到人影了。他忧郁地上了马车，既松了一口气，又忧心忡忡。
那么，这就是她玩的把戏了，是吗？把他关在门外，却向他要钱。天哪，这一手可真绝。
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Chapter 25 ASHES OF TINDER: THE LOOSING OF STAYS
When Hurstwood got back to his office again he was in a greater quandary than ever. Lord, Lord, he thought, what had he got into? How could things have taken such a violent turn, and so quickly? He could hardly realise how it had all come about. It seemed a monstrous, unnatural, unwarranted condition which had suddenly descended upon him without his let or hindrance.
Meanwhile he gave a thought now and then to Carrie. What could be the trouble in that quarter? No letter had come, no word of any kind, and yet here it was late in the evening and she had agreed to meet him that morning. To-morrow they were to have met and gone off -- where? He saw that in the excitement of recent events he had not formulated a plan upon that score. He was desperately in love, and would have taken great chances to win her under ordinary circumstances, but now -- now what? Supposing she had found out something? Supposing she, too, wrote him and told him that she knew all -- that she would have nothing more to do with him? It would be just like this to happen as things were going now. Meanwhile he had not sent the money.
He strolled up and down the polished floor of the resort, his hands in his pockets, his brow wrinkled, his mouth set. He was getting some vague comfort out of a good cigar, but it was no panacea for the ill which affected him. Every once in a while he would clinch his fingers and tap his foot -- signs of the stirring mental process he was undergoing. His whole nature was vigorously and powerfully shaken up, and he was finding what limits the mind has to endurance. He drank more brandy and soda than he had any evening in months. He was altogether a fine example of great mental perturbation.
For all his study nothing came of the evening except this -- he sent the money. It was with great opposition, after two or three hours of the most urgent mental affirmation and denial, that at last he got an envelope, placed in it the requested amount, and slowly sealed it up.
Then he called Harry, the boy of all work around the place.
"You take this to this address," he said, handing him the envelope, "and give it to Mrs. Hurstwood."
"Yes, sir," said the boy.
"If she isn't there bring it back."
"Yes, sir."
"You've seen my wife?" he asked as a precautionary measure as the boy turned to go.
"Oh, yes, sir. I know her."
"All right, now. Hurry right back."
"Any answer?"
"I guess not."
The boy hastened away and the manager fell to his musings. Now he had done it. There was no use speculating over that. He was beaten for to-night and he might just as well make the best of it. But, oh, the wretchedness of being forced this way! He could see her meeting the boy at the door and smiling sardonically. She would take the envelope and know that she had triumphed. If he only had that letter back he wouldn't send it. He breathed heavily and wiped the moisture from his face.
For relief, he arose and joined in conversation with a few friends who were drinking. He tried to get the interest of things about him, but it was not to be. All the time his thoughts would run out to his home and see the scene being therein enacted. All the time he was wondering what she would say when the boy handed her the envelope.
In about an hour and three-quarters the boy returned. He had evidently delivered the package, for, as he came up, he made no sign of taking anything out of his pocket.
"Well?" said Hurstwood.
"I gave it to her."
"My wife?"
"Yes, sir."
"Any answer?"
"She said it was high time."
Hurstwood scowled fiercely.
There was no more to be done upon that score that night. He went on brooding over his situation until midnight, when he repaired again to the Palmer House. He wondered what the morning would bring forth, and slept anything but soundly upon it.
Next day he went again to the office and opened his mail, suspicious and hopeful of its contents. No word from Carrie. Nothing from his wife, which was pleasant.
The fact that he had sent the money and that she had received it worked to the ease of his mind, for, as the thought that he had done it receded, his chagrin at it grew less and his hope of peace more. He fancied, as he sat at his desk, that nothing would be done for a week or two. Meanwhile, he would have time to think.
This process of thinking began by a reversion to Carrie and the arrangement by which he was to get her away from Drouet. How about that now? His pain at her failure to meet or write him rapidly increased as he devoted himself to this subject. He decided to write her care of the West Side Post-office and ask for an explanation, as well as to have her meet him. The thought that this letter would probably not reach her until Monday chafed him exceedingly. He must get some speedier method -- but how?
He thought upon it for a half-hour, not contemplating a messenger or a cab direct to the house, owing to the exposure of it, but finding that time was slipping away to no purpose, he wrote the letter and then began to think again.
The hours slipped by, and with them the possibility of the union he had contemplated. He had thought to be joyously aiding Carrie by now in the task of joining her interests to his, and here it was afternoon and nothing done. Three o'clock came, four, five, six, and no letter. The helpless manager paced the floor and grimly endured the gloom of defeat. He saw a busy Saturday ushered out, the Sabbath in, and nothing done. All day, the bar being closed, he brooded alone, shut out from home, from the excitement of his resort, from Carrie, and without the ability to alter his condition one iota. It was the worst Sunday he had spent in his life.
In Monday's second mail he encountered a very legal-looking letter which held his interest for some time. It bore the imprint of the law offices of McGregor, James and Hay, and with a very formal "Dear Sir," and "We beg to state," went on to inform him briefly that they had been retained by Mrs. Julia Hurstwood to adjust certain matters which related to her sustenance and property rights, and would he kindly call and see them about the matter at once.
He read it through carefully several times, and then merely shook his head. It seemed as if his family troubles were just beginning.
"Well!" he said after a time, quite audibly, "I don't know."
Then he folded it up and put it in his pocket.
To add to his misery there was no word from Carrie. He was quite certain now that she knew he was married and was angered at his perfidy. His loss seemed all the more bitter now that he needed her most. He thought he would go out and insist on seeing her if she did not send him word of some sort soon. He was really affected most miserably of all by this desertion. He had loved her earnestly enough, but now that the possibility of losing her stared him in the face she seemed much more attractive. He really pined for a word, and looked out upon her with his mind's eye in the most wistful manner. He did not propose to lose her, whatever she might think. Come what might, he would adjust this matter, and soon. He would go to her and tell her all his family complications. He would explain to her just where he stood and how much he needed her. Surely she couldn't go back on him now? It wasn't possible. He would plead until her anger would melt -- until she would forgive him.
Suddenly he thought: "Supposing she isn't out there -- suppose she has gone?"
He was forced to take his feet. It was too much to think of and sit still.
Nevertheless, his rousing availed him nothing.
On Tuesday it was the same way. He did manage to bring himself into the mood to go out to Carrie, but when he got in Ogden Place he thought he saw a man watching him and went away. He did not go within a block of the house.
One of the galling incidents of this visit was that he came back on a Randolph Street car, and without noticing arrived almost opposite the building of the concern with which his son was connected. This sent a pang through his heart. He had called on his boy there several times. Now the lad had not sent him a word. His absence did not seem to be noticed by either of his children. Well, well, fortune plays a man queer tricks. He got back to his office and joined in a conversation with friends. It was as if idle chatter deadened the sense of misery.
That night he dined at Rector's and returned at once to his office. In the bustle and show of the latter was his only relief. He troubled over many little details and talked perfunctorily to everybody. He stayed at his desk long after all others had gone, and only quitted it when the night watchman on his round pulled at the front door to see if it was safely locked.
On Wednesday, he received another polite note from McGregor, James and Hay. It read:
Dear Sir:
We beg to inform you that we are instructed to wait until tomorrow (Thursday) at one o'clock, before filing suit against you, on behalf of Mrs. Julia Hurstwood, for divorce and alimony. If we do not hear from you before that time we shall consider that you do not wish to compromise the matter in any way and act accordingly.
Very truly yours, etc.
"Compromise!" exclaimed Hurstwood bitterly. "Compromise!" Again he shook his head.
So here it was spread out clear before him, and now he knew what to expect. If he didn't go and see them they would sue him promptly. If he did, he would be offered terms that would make his blood boil. He folded the letter and put it with the other one. Then he put on his hat and went for a turn about the block.
赫斯渥回到办公室以后，感到更加进退维谷。他想，上帝啊，他落入了什么样的困境埃事情怎么会这样突如起来地急转直下？他难以理解这一切是怎么发生的。突然降临到他头上，让他无法抗拒阻挡的这局面在他看来简直是荒诞可怖，不近人情，毫无道理。 与此同时，他不时想到嘉莉。这方面又会发生什么问题呢？既没有信，也没有任何消息。现在已经是夜里了，她原先答应早上和他见面的。本来他们约好明天会合一起私奔的—-到哪里去呢？最近一连串的事情把他弄得焦头烂额，他发现他竟然对这个问题一点没有打算。他疯狂地爱着嘉莉，在正常的情况下，他会不顾一切地把她赢到手。但是现在--现在该怎么办呢？也许她已经得知了什么？假如她写信给他，说她什么都知道了，她再也不愿意和他来往了，那怎么办呢？照目前的形势看，这种事很可能发生的。接着他又想到，他的钱还没有送去。
他在酒店的打蜡地面上走来走去，手插在口袋里，眉头紧皱，嘴巴紧闭。他抽了支上等雪茄，模模糊糊地感到心里好受了一些。但是雪茄烟无法帮他解决那些给他带来痛苦的倒霉事。他不时地捏紧拳头，用一只脚敲着地--这是他心情激动不安的迹象。他的心灵受到了剧烈的震撼，忍耐力已接近极限。几个月来他第一次喝了那么多白兰地兑苏打水，活脱脱是一副心烦意乱的模样。
整个晚上，他翻来覆去地思索，但是毫无结果，只干成了一件事--他把钱送去了。经过两三个小时的紧张思想斗争，反复掂量了正反两方面的利弊，他才不情愿地拿过一个信封，把索取的金额装进去，又慢吞吞地封了信口。
然后他把店里的勤杂工哈里叫了过来。
“把这信封按地址送去，”他把信交给他时说道，“交给赫斯渥太太。”“是，先生，”仆役说道。
“如果她不在家，就把信拿回来。”
“是，先生。”
“你见过我太太吗？”仆役转身要走时，他又不放心地问了一句。
“嗯，见过，先生。我认识她。”
“那好吧，快去快回。”
“要回信吗？”
“我看不会有。”
仆役急急走了，经理又陷入了沉思。现在事情已经做了，再忖量也没有用了。今晚他既然已经认输，对失败还不如泰然处之为妙。可是这样被骗认输太让人难堪了！他可以想象得到她怎么脸带讥笑在门口接待仆役。她会收下信封知道是自己赢了。要是他能拿回信封就好了。他实在不乐意让她拿到那个信封。他粗粗地呼吸着，擦了擦脸上的汗。
为了消愁，他站起身，加入到正喝酒的几个朋友中去，和他们聊天。他竭力要对周围的事情发生兴趣，可是办不到。他的心思早已飞回家中，想象着家里正在演出的那一幕，猜测当仆役把信封递给她时，她会说些什么。
过了１小时３刻钟，仆役回来了。很显然他已把信送到了，因为当他向他走来时，并没有做出要从口袋里掏东西的样子。
“怎么样？”赫斯渥问道。
“我把信交给她了。”
“是交给我妻子的吗？”
“是的，先生。”
“有答复吗？”
“她说，信来得正是时候。”
赫斯渥沉下了脸。
那天晚上这件事就算了结了。他继续惦量着他的处境，直到夜里１２点回帕尔默旅馆去过夜。他心里想着第二天早上可能发生的新情况，所以这一晚难以入眠。
第二天早上，他又来到酒店的写字间，打开他的邮件，既忐忑不安又怀着希望。没有嘉莉的信，不过让他欣慰的是，也没有他太太的信。
他送去了钱，她也收下了，这个事实使他心安了。他不再去想钱是被迫送去的，所以他的懊恼就减轻了，同时对和解的希望也增加了。当他坐在办公桌旁时，他幻想着这一两个星期之内不会有什么事了，这期间他会有时间好好想想。
他一开始好好想想，思绪就回到了嘉莉身上，回到让她脱离杜洛埃的计划上。这件事现在该怎么办呢？他一门心思地想着这个问题，想到她既没来和他见面，也没写信给他，使他心中痛楚遽增。他决定要给她写封信，通过西区邮局转交。他要请求她给个解释，还要请她来和他见面。想到她也许要到星期一才会收到这封信，他心里痛苦不堪。他必须想出一个更快的办法--但是怎么办呢？
这个问题他想了半小时。因为怕暴露，他既不打算差人送信，也不打算坐马车直接上她家。他发现时间在流逝，而办法却想不出来，于是他就先把信写了，然后接着想。
时间一小时一小时地溜走了。随着时间的消逝，他原先打算的和嘉莉团聚的可能性也消失了。照原先的打算，他现在该兴高采烈地帮助嘉莉，让她和他同甘共苦。现在已是下午，他还一事无成。３点过去了，４点，５点，６点，一直没有信来。这位一筹莫展的经理在屋里踱着步，默默忍受着失败的痛苦。眼看着忙忙碌碌的星期六过去了，又迎来了礼拜天，还是一事无成。星期天酒吧整天关门，他独自沉思着，无家可归。没有热闹的酒店消愁，又没有嘉莉相伴，他内心的凄凉痛苦无法排解，这是他有生以来最糟糕的星期天。
星期一的第二批邮件中，他收到一封像是法律事务所来的信，好一阵子他注意地看着信封。信上面印着麦·詹·海三人事务所的字样。信里面客套地用“先生阁下”和“敬告”字样开头，接着简短地通知他，他们受朱利亚·赫斯渥太太委托，就她的赡养问题和产权问题进行调停，务请惠顾面谈云云。
他仔细地读了好几遍，然后摇了摇头。看起来他的家庭麻烦还只是开了一个头。
“唉！”过了一会儿，他几乎说出声来，“这让人如何是好。”然后他把信迭起来，放进口袋。
嘉莉仍然没有信来，这更加剧了他心中的痛苦。他现在已可以断定，她已经得知他是有妇之夫，对于他的欺瞒行为非常生气。在他最需要的时候失去她，使他加倍痛苦。他想，如果他再收不到她的信，他就要去找她，非见到她不可。在所有的事情中，她的遗弃确实让他最为痛苦。他确确实实一心一意地爱着她，现在面临失去她的危险，她在他眼中显得分外可爱。
他苦苦盼着她的来信，如痴如醉地思念着她。不管她怎么想，他不能失去她。无论如何，他要解决这个问题，而且尽快地解决。他要去见她，把他家里的纠葛都告诉她。他要向她解释目前的处境，告诉她他有多么需要她。当然，她不会在这种时候抛其他吧？当然不会。他要苦苦哀求，一直到她消了气，一直到她原谅他。
他突然想到：“会不会她已经不在那里了--会不会已经走了？”这个念头使他跳了起来。坐在那里想这种可能性太让人受不了了。
然而站起来也于事无补。
星期二情况照旧。他确实鼓起勇气出去找过嘉莉，但是当他走到奥登广场时，他感到有人在注意他，只好走开了。他没有走近公寓所在的那条马路。
这次拜访中还发生了一件让他难堪的事情。他坐蓝道夫大街的街车回来时，不知不觉地，差一点来到了他儿子上班的那家商号大楼的对面。这使他心里一阵刺痛。他曾好几次去那里看望他的儿子。而如今，他儿子连一个字也没写给他。他的两个儿女似乎谁也没有注意到他没回家。唉，命运真会捉弄人埃他回到酒店，加入到朋友们中间聊天，好像闲聊可以麻痹他心中的痛楚。
那天晚上，他在雷克脱大饭店吃了晚饭。饭后他立刻回到他的办公室。只有在熙熙攘攘气派豪华的酒店里，他才能得些安慰。他过问店里的琐细事务，和每个人都聊上两句。在所有的人都离开后，他还久久地坐在办公桌旁。直到巡夜人巡逻到酒店，试着拉前门是否锁好的时候，他才离开。
星期三，他收到了麦·詹·海事务所的通知。上面客客气气地写道：阁下：本事务所受命通知您，本所将恭候阁下到明天即星期四下午一时。届时如不光临，本所将代表朱利亚·赫斯渥太太就离婚和赡养事务一案提起诉讼。在此期限之前，敬乞覆示。否则本所将认为阁下无意和解，而采取相应行动。
某某谨启
“和解！”赫斯渥恨恨地嚷道。“和解！”他又摇了摇头。
现在一切都明摆在面前，他知道什么样的结果等待着他。
如果他不去见他们，他们立刻会对他提出诉讼。如果他去见他们，他们会向他提出苛刻的条件，让他气得热血沸腾。他把信折起来，把它和上封信放在一起。然后他戴上帽子，在街区周围散步。
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Chapter 26 THE AMBASSADOR FALLEN: A SEARCH FOR THE GATE
Carrie, left alone by Drouet, listened to his retreating steps, scarcely realising what had happened. She knew that he had stormed out. It was some moments before she questioned whether he would return, not now exactly, but ever. She looked around her upon the rooms, out of which the evening light was dying, and wondered why she did not feel quite the same towards them. She went over to the dresser and struck a match, lighting the gas. Then she went back to the rocker to think.
It was some time before she could collect her thoughts, but when she did, this truth began to take on importance. She was quite alone. Suppose Drouet did not come back? Suppose she should never hear anything more of him? This fine arrangement of chambers would not last long. She would have to quit them.
To her credit, be it said, she never once counted on Hurstwood. She could only approach that subject with a pang of sorrow and regret. For a truth, she was rather shocked and frightened by this evidence of human depravity. He would have tricked her without turning an eyelash. She would have been led into a newer and worse situation. And yet she could not keep out the pictures of his looks and manners. Only this one deed seemed strange and miserable. It contrasted sharply with all she felt and knew concerning the man.
But she was alone. That was the greater thought just at present. How about that? Would she go out to work again? Would she begin to look around in the business district? The stage! Oh, yes. Drouet had spoken about that. Was there any hope there? She moved to and fro, in deep and varied thoughts, while the minutes slipped away and night fell completely. She had had nothing to eat, and yet there she sat, thinking it over.
She remembered that she was hungry and went to the little cupboard in the rear room where were the remains of one of their breakfasts. She looked at these things with certain misgivings. The contemplation of food had more significance than usual.
While she was eating she began to wonder how much money she had. It struck her as exceedingly important, and without ado she went to look for her purse. It was on the dresser, and in it were seven dollars in bills and some change. She quailed as she thought of the insignificance of the amount and rejoiced because the rent was paid until the end of the month. She began also to think what she would have done if she had gone out into the street when she first started. By the side of that situation, as she looked at it now, the present seemed agreeable. She had a little time at least, and then, perhaps, everything would come out all right, after all.
Drouet had gone, but what of it? He did not seem seriously angry. He only acted as if he were hurry. He would come back -- of course he would. There was his cane in the corner. Here was one of his collars. He had left his light overcoat in the wardrobe. She looked about and tried to assure herself with the sight of a dozen such details, but, alas, the secondary thought arrived. Supposing he did come back. Then what?
Here was another proposition nearly, if not quite, as disturbing. She would have to talk with and explain to him. He would want her to admit that he was right. It would be impossible for her to live with him.
On Friday Carrie remembered her appointment with Hurstwood, and the passing of the hour when she should, by all right of promise, have been in his company served to keep the calamity which had befallen her exceedingly fresh and clear. In her nervousness and stress of mind she felt it necessary to act, and consequently put on a brown street dress, and at eleven o'clock started to visit the business portion once again. She must look for work.
The rain, which threatened at twelve and began at one, served equally well to cause her to retrace her steps and remain within doors as it did to reduce Hurstwood's spirits and give him a wretched day.
The morrow was Saturday, a half-holiday in many business quarters, and besides it was a balmy, radiant day, with the trees and grass shining exceedingly green after the rain of the night before. When she went out the sparrows were twittering merrily in joyous choruses. She could not help feeling, as she looked across the lovely park, that life was a joyous thing for those who did not need to worry, and she wished over and over that something might interfere now to preserve for her the comfortable state which she had occupied. She did not want Drouet or his money when she thought of it, nor anything more to do with Hurstwood, but only the content and ease of mind she had experienced, for, after all, she had been happy -- happier, at least, than she was now when confronted by the necessity of making her way alone.
When she arrived in the business part it was quite eleven o'clock, and the business had little longer to run. She did not realise this at first, being affected by some of the old distress which was a result of her earlier adventure into this strenuous and exacting quarter. She wandered about, assuring herself that she was making up her mind to look for something, and at the same time feeling that perhaps it was not necessary to be in such haste about it. The thing was difficult to encounter, and she had a few days. Besides, she was not sure that she was really face to face again with the bitter problem of self-sustenance. Anyhow, there was one change for the better. She knew that she had improved in appearance. Her manner had vastly changed. Her clothes were becoming, and men -- well-dressed men, some of the kind who before had gazed at her indifferently from behind their polished railings and imposing office partitions -- now gazed into her face with a soft light in their eyes. In a way, she felt the power and satisfaction of the thing, but it did not wholly reassure her. She looked for nothing save what might come legitimately and without the appearance of special favour. She wanted something, but no man should buy her by false protestations or favour. She proposed to earn her living honestly.
"This store closes at one on Saturdays," was a pleasing and satisfactory legend to see upon doors which she felt she ought to enter and inquire for work. It gave her an excuse, and after encountering quite a number of them, and noting that the clock registered 12.15, she decided that it would be no use to seek further to-day, so she got on a car and went to Lincoln Park. There was always something to see there -- the flowers, the animals, the lake -- and she flattered herself that on Monday she would be up betimes and searching. Besides, many things might happen between now and Monday.
Sunday passed with equal doubts, worries, assurances, and heaven knows what vagaries of mind and spirit. Every half-hour in the day the thought would come to her most sharply, like the tail of a swishing whip, that action -- immediate action -- was imperative. At other times she would look about her and assure herself that things were not so bad -- that certainly she would come out safe and sound. At such times she would think of Drouet's advice about going on the stage, and saw some chance for herself in that quarter. She decided to take up that opportunity on the morrow.
Accordingly, she arose early Monday morning and dressed herself carefully. She did not know just how such applications were made, but she took it to be a matter which related more directly to the theatre buildings. All you had to do was to inquire of some one about the theatre for the manager and ask for a position. If there was anything, you might get it, or, at least, he could tell you how.
She had had no experience with this class of individuals whatsoever, and did not know the salacity and humour of the theatrical tribe. She only knew of the position which Mr. Hale occupied, but, of all things, she did not wish to encounter that personage, on account of her intimacy with his wife.
There was, however, at this time, one theatre, the Chicago Opera House, which was considerably in the public eye, and its manager, David A. Henderson, had a fair local reputation. Carrie had seen one or two elaborate performances there and had heard of several others. She knew nothing of Henderson nor of the methods of applying, but she instinctively felt that this would be a likely place, and accordingly strolled about in that neighbourhood. She came bravely enough to the showy entrance way, with the polished and begilded lobby, set with framed pictures out of the current attraction, leading up to the quiet box-office, but she could get no further. A noted comic opera comedian was holding forth that week, and the air of distinction and prosperity overawed her. She could not imagine that there would be anything in such a lofty sphere for her. She almost trembled at the audacity which might have carried her on to a terrible rebuff. She could find heart only to look at the pictures which were showy and then walk out. It seemed to her as if she had made a splendid escape and that it would be foolhardy to think of applying in that quarter again.
This little experience settled her hunting for one day. She looked around elsewhere, but it was from the outside. She got the location of several playhouses fixed in her mind -- notably the Grand Opera House and McVickar's, both of which were leading in attractions -- and then came away. Her spirits were materially reduced, owing to the newly restored sense of magnitude of the great interests and the insignificance of her claims upon society, such as she understood them to be.
That night she was visited by Mrs. Hale, whose chatter and protracted stay made it impossible to dwell upon her predicament or the fortune of the day. Before retiring, however, she sat down to think, and gave herself up to the most gloomy forebodings. Drouet had not put in an appearance. She had had no word from any quarter, she had spent a dollar of her precious sum in procuring food and paying car fare. It was evident that she would not endure long. Besides, she had discovered no resource.
In this situation her thoughts went out to her sister in Van Buren Street, whom she had not seen since the night of her flight, and to her home at Columbia City, which seemed now a part of something that could not be again. She looked for no refuge in that direction. Nothing but sorrow was brought her by thoughts of Hurstwood, which would return. That he could have chosen to dupe her in so ready a manner seemed a cruel thing.
Tuesday came, and with it appropriate indecision and speculation. She was in no mood, after her failure of the day before, to hasten forth upon her work-seeking errand, and yet she rebuked herself for what she considered her weakness the day before. Accordingly she started out to revisit the Chicago Opera House, but possessed scarcely enough courage to approach.
She did manage to inquire at the box-office, however.
"Manager of the company or the house?" asked the smartly dressed individual who took care of the tickets. He was favourably impressed by Carrie's looks.
"I don't know," said Carrie, taken back by the question.
"You couldn't see the manager of the house to-day, anyhow," volunteered the young man. "He's out of town."
He noted her puzzled look, and then added: "What is it you wish to see about?"
"I want to see about getting a position," she answered.
"You'd better see the manager of the company," he returned, "but he isn't here now."
"When will he be in?" asked Carrie, somewhat relieved by this information.
"Well, you might find him in between eleven and twelve. He's here after two o'clock."
Carrie thanked him and walked briskly out, while the young man gazed after her through one of the side windows of his gilded coop.
"Good-looking," he said to himself, and proceeded to visions of condescensions on her part which were exceedingly flattering to himself.
One of the principal comedy companies of the day was playing an engagement at the Grand opera House. Here Carrie asked to see the manager of the company. She little knew the trivial authority of this individual, or that had there been a vacancy an actor would have been sent on from New York to fill it.
"His office is upstairs," said a man in the box-office.
Several persons were in the manager's office, two lounging near a window, another talking to an individual sitting at a roll-top desk -- the manager. Carrie glanced nervously about, and began to fear that she should have to make her appeal before the assembled company, two of whom -- the occupants of the window -- were already observing her carefully.
"I can't do it," the manager was saying; "it's a rule of Mr. Frohman's never to allow visitors back of the stage. No, no!"
Carrie timidly waited, standing. There were chairs, but no one motioned her to be seated. The individual to whom the manager had been talking went away quite crest-fallen. That luminary gazed earnestly at some papers before him, as if they were of the greatest concern.
"Did you see that in the 'Herald' this morning about Nat Goodwin, Harris?"
"No," said the person addressed. "What was it?"
"Made quite a curtain address at Hooley's last night. Better look it up."
Harris reached over to a table and began to look for the "Herald."
"What is it?" said the manager to Carrie, apparently noticing her for the first time. He thought he was going to be held up for free tickets.
Carrie summoned up all her courage, which was little at best. She realised that she was a novice, and felt as if a rebuff were certain. Of this she was so sure that she only wished now to pretend she had called for advice.
"Can you tell me how to go about getting on the stage?"
It was the best way after all to have gone about the matter. She was interesting, in a manner, to the occupant of the chair, and the simplicity of her request and attitude took his fancy. He smiled, as did the others in the room, who, however, made some slight effort to conceal their humour.
"I don't know," he answered, looking her brazenly over. "Have you ever had any experience upon the stage?"
"A little," answered Carrie. "I have taken part in amateur performances."
She thought she had to make some sort of showing in order to retain his interest.
"Never studied for the stage?" he said, putting on an air intended as much to impress his friends with his discretion as Carrie.
"No, sir."
"Well, I don't know," he answered, tipping lazily back in his chair while she stood before him. "What makes you want to get on the stage?"
She felt abashed at the man's daring, but could only smile in answer to his engaging smirk, and say:
"I need to make a living."
"Oh," he answered, rather taken by her trim appearance, and feeling as if he might scrape up an acquaintance with her. "That's a good reason, isn't it? Well, Chicago is not a good place for what you want to do. You ought to be in New York. There's more chance there. You could hardly expect to get started out here."
Carrie smiled genially, grateful that he should condescend to advise her even so much. He noticed the smile, and put a slightly different construction on it. He thought he saw an easy chance for a little flirtation.
"Sit down," he said, pulling a chair forward from the side of his desk and dropping his voice so that the two men in the room should not hear. Those two gave each other the suggestion of a wink.
"Well, I'll be going, Barney," said one, breaking away and so addressing the manager. "See you this afternoon."
"All right," said the manager.
The remaining individual took up a paper as if to read.
"Did you have any idea what sort of part you would like to get?" asked the manager softly.
"Oh, no," said Carrie. "I would take anything to begin with."
"I see," he said. "Do you live here in the city?"
"Yes, sir."
The manager smiled most blandly.
"Have you ever tried to get in as a chorus girl?" he asked, assuming a more confidential air.
Carrie began to feel that there was something exuberant and unnatural in his manner.
"No," she said.
"That's the way most girls begin," he went on, "who go on the stage. It's a good way to get experience."
He was turning on her a glance of the companionable and persuasive manner.
"I didn't know that," said Carrie.
"It's a difficult thing," he went on, "but there's always a chance, you know." Then, as if he suddenly remembered, he pulled out his watch and consulted it. "I've an appointment at two," he said, "and I've got to go to lunch now. Would you care to come and dine with me? We can talk it over there."
"Oh, no," said Carrie, the whole motive of the man flashing on her at once. "I have an engagement myself."
"That's too bad," he said, realising that he had been a little beforehand in his offer and that Carrie was about to go away. "Come in later. I may know of something."
"Thank you," she answered, with some trepidation, and went out.
"She was good-looking, wasn't she?" said the manager's companion, who had not caught all the details of the game he had played.
"Yes, in a way," said the other, sore to think the game had been lost. "She'd never make an actress, though. Just another chorus girl-that's all."
This little experience nearly destroyed her ambition to call upon the manager at the Chicago Opera House, but she decided to do so after a time. He was of a more sedate turn of mind. He said at once that there was no opening of any sort, and seemed to consider her search foolish.
"Chicago is no place to get a start," he said. "You ought to be in New York."
Still she persisted, and went to McVickar's, where she could not find any one. "The Old Homestead" was running there, but the person to whom she was referred was not to be found.
These little expeditions took up her time until quite four o'clock, when she was weary enough to go home. She felt as if she ought to continue and inquire elsewhere, but the results so far were too dispiriting. She took the car and arrived at Ogden Place in three-quarters of an hour, but decided to ride on to the West Side branch of the Post-office, where she was accustomed to receive Hurstwood's letters. There was one there now, written Saturday, which she tore open and read with mingled feelings. There was so much warmth in it and such tense complaint at her having failed to meet him, and her subsequent silence, that she rather pitied the man. That he loved her was evident enough. That he had wished and dared to do so, married as he was, was the evil. She felt as if the thing deserved an answer, and consequently decided that she would write and let him know that she knew of his married state and was justly incensed at his deception. She would tell him that it was all over between them.
At her room, the wording of this missive occupied her for some time, for she fell to the task at once. It was most difficult.
"You do not need to have me explain why I did not meet you," she wrote in part. "How could you deceive me so? You cannot expect me to have anything more to do with you. I wouldn't under any circumstances. Oh, how could you act so?" she added in a burst of feeling. "You have caused me more misery than you can think. I hope you will get over your infatuation for me. We must not meet any more. Good-bye."
She took the letter the next morning, and at the corner dropped it reluctantly into the letter-box, still uncertain as to whether she should do so or not. Then she took the car and went down town.
This was the dull season with the department stores, but she was listened to with more consideration than was usually accorded to young women applicants, owing to her neat and attractive appearance. She was asked the same old questions with which she was already familiar.
"What can you do? Have you ever worked in a retail store before? Are you experienced?"
At The Fair, See and Company's, and all the great stores it was much the same. It was the dull season, she might come in a little later, possibly they would like to have her.
When she arrived at the house at the end of the day, weary and disheartened, she discovered that Drouet had been there. His umbrella and light overcoat were gone. She thought she missed other things, but could not be sure. Everything had not been taken.
So his going was crystallising into staying. What was she to do now? Evidently she would be facing the world in the same old way within a day or two. Her clothes would get poor. She put her two hands together in her customary expressive way and pressed her fingers. Large tears gathered in her eyes and broke hot across her cheeks. She was alone, very much alone.
Drouet really had called, but it was with a very different mind from that which Carrie had imagined. He expected to find her, to justify his return by claiming that he came to get the remaining portion of his wardrobe, and before he got away again to patch up a peace.
Accordingly, when he arrived, he was disappointed to find Carrie out. He trifled about, hoping that she was somewhere in the neighbourhood and would soon return. He constantly listened, expecting to hear her foot on the stair.
When he did so, it was his intention to make believe that he had just come in and was disturbed at being caught. Then he would explain his need of his clothes and find out how things stood.
Wait as he did, however, Carrie did not come. From pottering around among the drawers, in momentary expectation of her arrival, he changed to looking out of the window, and from that to resting himself in the rocking-chair. Still no Carrie. He began to grow restless and lit a cigar. After that he walked the floor. Then he looked out of the window and saw clouds gathering. He remembered an appointment at three. He began to think that it would be useless to wait, and got hold of his umbrella and light coat, intending to take these things, any way. It would scare her, he hoped. To-morrow he would come back for the others. He would find out how things stood.
As he started to go he felt truly sorry that he had missed her. There was a little picture of her on the wall, showing her arrayed in the little jacket he had first bought her -- her face a little more wistful than he had seen it lately. He was really touched by it, and looked into the eyes of it with a rather rare feeling for him.
"You didn't do me right, Cad," he said, as if he were addressing her in the flesh.
Then he went to the door, took a good look around, and went out.
杜洛埃走后，只剩下嘉莉一个人。她听着他远去的脚步声，几乎不明白怎么回事。她只知道他怒冲冲地走了。过了好一会儿，她才开始想，他是否还会回来。当然不是现在，而是以后还会不会回来。外面暮色已浓。她打量着房间，很奇怪这些房间今天为什么给人异样的感觉。她走到梳妆台前，划了根火柴，点亮了煤气灯。然后她走到摇椅边，坐下来思索。 好一会儿她才能集中思想。可是她一集中思想，就意识到了问题的严重性。她现在孤身一人，假如杜洛埃不回来怎么办呢？假如她再也听不到他的消息呢？这些漂亮的房间不能久住，她将不得不搬出去。
应该指出的是，她一次也没想到要求助于赫斯渥，这是应该赞扬的。每次想到他都给她带来伤心、悔恨和痛苦。说实话，这事足以证明人类的邪恶。这证据让她大为震惊和害怕。他会不动声色地把她骗了，连眼皮也不眨一下。她差一点落入更糟糕的境地。然而她不能把他的音容笑貌从脑海里驱除出去。
只有这一点似乎太奇怪太糟糕了，因为这不符合她现在对他的看法和情感。
但她现在凄然一身。这一点在目前是首当其冲的问题。怎么办呢？她是不是该出外重新工作呢？是不是要在商业区首先找事呢？上舞台演戏！嗯，对。杜洛埃讲到过这一点。有没有希望当个演员呢？她在摇椅里摇来摇去，陷入深思，各种思绪纷至沓来。时间一分钟一分钟地过去了，夜幕已经完全降临。她还没有吃一点东西，然而她们坐在那里，心里反复掂量。
她想起自己肚子饿了，就到后房的小柜跟前，那里还留着早饭吃剩下的一点食物。她忧心忡忡地打量着这些食物。食物现在比以往来得重要。
吃着饭的时候，她开始考虑她还有多少钱。她想到这问题非常重要，就立刻去找她的钱包。钱包在梳妆台上，里面有７块钱的钞票，还有一些零钱。想到只有这么一点钱，她心里很沮丧。不过想起这个月的房租已经付过了，她心里又高兴起来。她还想到如果她刚才真的离家出走了，现在的境遇又会怎么样。这么一比，她感到眼下的处境还不算太糟，至少她还有点时间，也许以后一切又会好起来的。
杜洛埃走了，但是这又怎么样呢？他并不像是真生气，他只是装出一副恼怒的样子。他会回来的--他会的，这是理所当然的。他的手杖还留在角落里，这儿还有他的一个衬衫领子。他的薄大衣也还留在衣橱里。她四处看着，用看到的这样那样的东西宽慰自己。但是随后她又想到另一个问题：如果他真的回来了，那又会怎么样呢？
这个问题尽管没有前一个难题那样令她不安，也好不到哪里去。她将不得不和他谈，向他解释。他会要她承认他没错。
那样的话，和他继续生活在一起是不可能的。
星期五，嘉莉想起她和赫斯渥有个约会。她看着他们约会的那个小时一分分地过去，心里重新清晰地感受到自己身受的灾难。她紧张不安，心里沉甸甸的，感到非采取行动不可。于是她穿上一件棕色的外衣，１１点钟的时候出门，再度到商业区去碰运气，她必须找份工作。
１２点钟的时候，天阴沉沉的像要下雨。１点钟时真的开始下雨了，这场雨使嘉莉只好回家，整天呆在家里。这场雨也使赫斯渥情绪低落，一整天闷闷不乐。
第二天是星期六，许多商行只营业半天。天气和暖怡人，阳光灿烂。下了一晚的雨以后，树木和草坪显得分外青翠。她出门时，大群的麻雀在叽叽喳喳地欢唱。看着可爱的公园，她不由感到，对于那些衣食无忧的人来说，生活真是趣味盎然。
她一再盼望会出现什么奇迹，让她保住迄今享有的那份舒适生活。当然，她这么想时，并不是想要杜洛埃或者他的钱，也不是想和赫斯渥再有什么瓜葛，只是渴望继续过原来那种心满意足无忧无虑的日子。因为毕竟这些日子生活是快乐的，至少比眼下不得不单熗骑马地出外闯荡谋生要快乐得多。
她来到商业区时，已经１１点了，这一天的营业时间所剩不多了。她一开始并没有意识到这一点。上次在这个紧张苛刻的地区闯荡带来的痛苦仍记忆犹新，影响着她的情绪。她四处游荡，竭力使自己相信她正打定主意要找工作，同时却又感到似乎她不必那么急于找工作。找工作太为难了，她还有几天可拖。此外，她并不认为她真的已经面临自食其力的难题。不管怎么说，她现在的条件比那时强：她的外貌比以前漂亮。她现在衣服合体，举止大为改进。男人们--那些衣冠楚楚的男人们，以前坐在他们气派的写字间里，从光亮的铜栏杆后面冷淡地看着她，现在却用柔和的目光注视着她的脸。她有几分感到了自己外貌的力量，心里沾沾自喜。但是这些并不足以使她感到完全自信。她要的并不是男人们的额外恩赐，而是合法正当地得到的工作。她有需求，但是任何男人也别指望用花言巧语或者小恩小惠来收买她。她要清清白白地自食其力。
“本店星期六下午１点打烊。”她正感到该进去问问有没有工作的时候，店门口的这个告示让她如释重负欣喜满意。这下她有了一个不去求职的借口。这样的招牌看多了，钟的指钟又已指到１２点１刻，她就决定这一天再继续找工作是徒劳无益的。于是她就坐上一辆街车，到了林肯公园。这里总有不少值得观看的东西--花啦，动物啦，湖啦。她又宽慰自己，星期一她会早点起来找工作。再说，从现在到星期一这段时间里，什么事都可能发生的。
星期天过去了，这一天充满着同样的疑虑，担忧，自我宽慰，和天知道还有些什么别的异想天开。每隔半小时，她就痛楚地想到该采取行动，而且必须立刻采取行动。这个念头像呼啸的鞭子梢抽打在身上。有的时候，她又会朝四周看看，安慰自己，事情还不算太糟--她一定能度过难关，安然无恙。这种时候她就会想起杜洛埃的建议，觉得在当演员方面，她也许会有一点机会。她决定第二天就去试试。
为此，星期一早上她早早起来，细细地穿着打扮了一番。
她不知道这种求职该如何着手，但是她认为这事肯定和剧场有较为直接的关系。你只要去剧场向人打听一下，求见经理，然后向他申请一个职位。如果有空缺的话，你也许会被录用。
至少他会指点你该如何申请。
她和这一类人从来没有打过交道，并不知道演艺圈里这些人的好色和诙谐。她只知道海尔先生担任的职务，但是由于她和他太太关系密切，她最不希望遇到的就是这位先生。
不过当时有一个剧场--芝加哥歌剧院，声誉甚隆，剧院经理大卫·艾·汉德生在当地很有一点名气。嘉莉在那里看过一两场精心排演的戏，还听人说起过这个戏院上演的好几出别的戏。她对汉德生本人一无所知，也不知道申请工作的方法。但是她本能地感到这个地方很可能找到工作，所以她在戏院附近留连转悠。最后她鼓起了勇气，步入堂皇气派的戏院大门。里面是金碧辉煌的大厅，墙上的镜框里陈列着时下走红的名角和剧照。再进去就是安静的售票处。可是她没有勇气再往前走了。一个著名的滑稽歌剧演员本周在这里公演，那种赫赫声名和豪华气派把她震住了。她不敢想象在这种高贵的地方能有她一席之地。想到自己如此狂妄，竟敢到这里来找工作，想到差一点让人粗暴地骂出来，她吓得几乎发抖。她只有勇气看看墙上那些争芳斗艳的剧照，就退了出来。在她看来，她这么溜出来再妙不过了。如果还想在这里找工作，就真是太愣头愣脑不自量力了。
这场小小的冒险，结束了她一天的求职努力。她又到别处去转转，不过现在只是从外面打量一番。她的脑子里记住了好些戏院的地理位置--其中最重要的有大歌剧院和麦克维加戏院，这两个戏院都很叫座--然后走开了。这一番经历让她重新意识到这些财大气粗的企业高不可攀，而她个人的资格照她自己看来实在太微不足道，无法得到社会的重视。这一来她的勇气和信心又一落千丈。
那天晚上海尔太太来看她。她坐在那里聊天，半天不走，所以嘉莉无暇去想自己的处境或者当天的运气。不过上床前，她坐了下来思考，心里充满了悲观的预感。杜洛埃还没有露面，一点儿消息也没有。她已经从她那笔宝贵的钱里花掉了一块钱，用于吃饭和坐车。她的钱维持不了多久，这是明摆着的。
此外她还没找到一点挣钱的门路。
在这种情况下她的思绪回到了凡布伦大街她姐姐那里。
自从那天晚上出逃，她还没有见过她姐姐。她也想到了哥伦比亚城的老家，那些仿佛成了她永远无法重返的那个世界的一部分。她并不指望从那里得到庇护。她也想到赫斯渥，但是想到他，只给她带来悲伤。他竟会毫无顾忌地想要欺骗她，在她看来真是太残忍了。
到了星期二，她仍是左思右想举起不定。前一天的失败经历使她无心无绪，并不急于出去找工作。但是她责备自己前一天太畏首畏尾了。于是她又出发重返芝加哥歌剧院，虽然她几乎没有勇气走近它。
但是她最后还是走到售票处去打听。
“你想见剧团经理还是戏院经理？”那个穿着华丽的售票员问道。嘉莉的美貌给他留下了好印象。
“我也不知道，”嘉莉回答。这个问题出乎她的意料之外。
“不管怎样，你今天见不到戏院经理，”那个青年主动告诉她说，“他今天不在城里。”他注意到她脸上困惑的表情，于是又问道：“你有什么事要见他？”“我想问问是不是有空缺，”她答道。
“那你最好去见剧团经理，”他回答说。“不过他现在不在这里。”“他什么时候会来？”嘉莉问道。这个消息让她稍微松了一口气。
“嗯，你也许在１１点到１２点之间可以找到他。２点以后他在这里。”嘉莉向他道谢以后，就轻快她走了出来。那个年轻人还从装饰华丽的售票处边窗注视着她的背影。
“真漂亮，”他心里想道，于是开始想入非非，想象她对他屈尊俯就，让他不胜荣幸。
当时一家主要的喜剧团正在大歌剧院按合同进行演出。
嘉莉来到这里求见剧团经理。她不知道这人并没有多大权力。
如果有空缺，演员将从纽约派来，这一点她一无所知。
“他的办公室在楼上，”票房的一个人告诉她。
经理办公室里有几个人。有两个懒散地靠在窗口旁，另一个正在对坐在拉盖办公桌旁的人说话，那个坐着的就是经理。
嘉莉心情忐忑地朝四周打量了一下，开始担心她必须当着这么多人的面求职。其中的两个人，就是靠窗口那两个，开始细细打量她。
“这一点我办不到，”那个经理正在说话。“富罗门先生有规定，不准来访者到后台去。不行，不行！”嘉莉站在那里，怯怯地等着。旁边有椅子，但是没有人示意她坐下来。和经理谈话的那人垂头丧气地走了。那个大人物一本正经地看起面前的报纸来，仿佛那些报纸是他头等关心的事情。
“哈里斯，你看到今天早上《先驱报》上登的一则关于耐特·古德温的消息吗？”“没有，”被问的那个人回答。“是关于什么的？”“昨晚在胡利大戏院他作了一场精彩的幕前演说，你最好看一看。”哈里斯伸手到桌子上找《先驱报》。
“你有什么事？”他问嘉莉，显然刚刚看到她。他以为是个来问他要免费戏票的。
嘉莉鼓起了全部勇气，其实充其量也没有多少勇气可言。
她意识到自己是个新手，非遭到断然回绝不可。对这一点她深信不疑，所以她现在只想装出一副来向他请教的样子。
“你能告诉我怎么才能登台演戏吗？”说到底，这是求职的最佳办法。坐在椅子里的那人开始对她有几分感兴趣，她的直截了当的请求和说话方式很合他的心意。他露出了微笑，屋里其他人也微笑起来，不过那些人对他们的笑意稍加掩饰。
“我也不知道，”他厚颜无耻地打量着她。“你有过登台演出的经验吗？”“有过一点，”嘉莉回答说。“我曾经在业余戏剧演出里演过一个角色。”她想她必须稍微炫耀一下才能继续让他感兴趣。
“没有研究过舞台表演吧？”他说，装出一副煞有介事的神气，既是给嘉莉看的，也是给他的朋友们看的。
“没有，先生。”
“那么，我也不知道该怎么办了，”他回答道，懒洋洋地朝椅背上一靠，她还站在他面前。“你为什么想要登台当演员？”那个男人的放肆让她感到窘迫，但是对于他的得意的迷人笑容只能报以微笑。她回答说：“我需要谋生。”“噢，”他答道。他看上了她的匀称漂亮的外貌，感到兴许他可以和她结交一番。“这个理由不坏，是不是？不过，芝加哥不是达到你的目的的好地方。你应该到纽约去。那里机会更多一点。你在这里很难有机会开始演员生涯。”嘉莉温柔地微微一笑，很感激他屈尊赐教，给她提供那么多忠告。他注意到她的微笑，但是对这个微笑作了略为不同的解释，认为自己有了一个调情的好机会。
“请坐，”他说着从桌子侧面把一把椅子往前拉了拉。他把声音压低，不让屋里另外两个人听见。那两个人心照不宣地相互眨了眨眼睛。
“喂，巴纳，我要走了，”其中一个突然离去，临走时对经理打了声招呼，“今天下午见。”“好吧，”经理说。
留下的那人拿起一份报纸，像是要看报的样子。
“你想过要演一个什么样的角色？”经理轻声问。
“噢，没有，”嘉莉说，“刚开头什么角色都行。”“我明白了，”他说。“你住在这个城里吗？”“是的，先生。”经理讨好地微笑着。
“你有没有试过当合唱队队员？”他拿出一副推心置腹讲悄悄话的神气。
嘉莉开始感到他的态度浮夸不自然。
“没有，”她说。
“大多数女孩子当演员都是那样开始的，”他继续说。“这是取得舞台经验的好办法。”他用友好诱惑的目光看着她。
“这一点我原先没有想到。”
“这事很困难，”他继续说，“不过，你知道，机会总有的。”接着他好像突然想起了什么，掏出怀表看了看。“我２点钟还有一个约会，”他说。“我现在得去吃午饭了。你愿意和我一起去吃饭吗？吃饭时我们可以继续谈谈。”“噢，不用了，”嘉莉说，立刻明白了他的全部动机。“我自己也有一个约会。”“那太遗憾了，”他说，意识到自己的邀请提出的时机略嫌早了一点，现在嘉莉要走了。”以后请再来。我也许会有点工作的消息。”“谢谢，”她说着胆战心惊地走了出来。
“长得不错，是不是？”经理的伙伴说，他并没有听清楚经理玩的全部把戏。
“是啊，有几分姿色，”经理说道，痛心自己的把戏失败了。
“不过她不会成为一个女明星。只能当个合唱队队员。”这次小小的涉险几乎打消了她去芝加哥歌剧院拜访剧团经理的决心。但是过了一会儿，她决定还是去一趟。这个经理是个较为严肃正派的人。他立即说，他们剧团没有空缺，而且似乎认为她的求职是愚蠢的。
“芝加哥不是初登舞台的地方，”他说。“你应该去纽约。”但是她没有放弃登台的念头，又赶到麦克维加大戏院。可是到了那里她扑了一个空。那里正在上演《故居》这出戏。人们指点她求见的人却哪里也找不到。
这些小小的探险活动让她一直忙到４点。她已经精疲力尽想回家了。她觉得她该到别的地方再打听打听，但是迄今为止的结果太让她失望了。她坐上街车，３刻钟后到了奥登广常但是她决定再坐下去，到西区邮局下车，她一向是从那里拿到赫斯渥的信的。那里已有一封信等着她，是星期六写的。
她带着复杂的感情拆开信看了起来。信里充满着热情，对她的失约和随后的沉默万分苦恼，使得嘉莉心软了。他爱她，这一点是明摆着的。但是他作为有妇之夫竟敢爱她，这又太大逆不道了。她觉得这封信似乎该有个答复，因此决定写封回信，让他明白她已经知道他的婚姻状况，因此对他的欺骗行为理所当然地感到气愤。她要告诉他，他们之间的关系已经完结了。
一回到家，她就动手写信。这封信的措辞很费斟酌，这信太难写了。
“你不需要我来解释我为什么不来见你。”她在信里写道，“你怎么能这样欺骗我呢？你不该指望我还会和你来往。无论如何，我不会再和你来往了。你怎么可以这样对待我呢？”她一阵感情迸发又补充说，“你给我造成了你无法想象的痛苦。我希望你能克服对我的迷恋，我们不能再见面了。别了！”第二天早上她拿着信出门，在马路的转弯处不情愿地把信投进邮筒。因为她一直拿不定主意，不知道该不该写这封信。然后她坐上街车，去商业区。
现在是百货公司的淡季，不过人们倾听她的求职申请时态度非常关注，这是一般女孩子求职时得不到的关注。这当然是因为嘉莉模样齐整，楚楚动人。他们问她的仍是那些她早就熟悉的老问题：“你会做些什么？你以前有过在零售商店工作的经历吗？
你有没有经验？”
在商场，在西公司，和所有别的大百货公司，情况都大同小异。现在是淡季，她可以晚些时候来看看，那时他们也许会雇她的。
傍晚，当她精疲力竭垂头丧气地回到家时，她发现杜洛埃来过了。他的伞和薄大衣已经拿走了。她感到还少了些别的什么东西，但是不肯定。他并没有把所有的东西都拿走。
这么看来，他的离开已成定局，他再也不会回来了。她现在该怎么办呢？很显然，一两天之内，她又得像从前那样面对冷酷的世界了。她的衣服渐渐地又会变得破旧寒酸。她习惯地合起双手，富有表情地把手指紧紧按在一起。大滴泪珠在她眼中聚集，热泪滚下脸颊。她很孤单，孤单极了。
杜洛埃确实来过了。不过他来的心情和嘉莉想的完全不一样。他期望见到她在家，他将声称他是回来拿留下的衣服的。然后在离开以前，他将设法和她言归于好。
因此他来时，看到嘉莉不在家，感到很失望。他东摸摸西拿拿，希望她就在附近什么地方，快回来了。他一直竖起耳朵听着，期待着听到楼梯上传来她的脚步声。
当他这么等着时，他打算等她回来时要装出刚到家的样子，还要假装被她撞见很狼狈的样子。然后他就解释，他需要衣服所以回来的。他要瞧瞧眼下情况如何。
可是他等了又等，嘉莉一直没有回来。起初他在抽屉里胡乱地翻着，随时防备她回来。接着他又走到窗口去张望，最后他在摇椅里坐了下来。嘉莉迟迟未归。他开始焦急得坐立不安了，于是点着了一支雪茄。那以后，他在房间里来回踱着。他又朝窗外张望，发现乌云在聚集。他想起来３点钟还有一个约会，于是感到再等无益，就拿起了伞和薄大衣。不管怎样，他打算把这两样东西拿走。他希望这样能吓唬吓唬她。明天他会回来取别的东西，那时再看情况如何。
他起身离开时，对于没有见到她，心里确实很遗憾。墙上有一张她的小照，照片里的她穿着他第一次给她买的那件小外套，脸上带着近来已不常看到的忧愁渴望的表情。他确实被这照片打动了，用一种他身上很少见的深情，注视着照片里她的眼睛。
“你对不起我，嘉德，”他说，好像那照片就是她本人似的。
然后他走向门口，朝房间四周久久地打量了一眼，才走出门去。
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Chapter 27 WHEN WATERS ENGULF US WE REACH FOR A STAR
It was when he returned from his disturbed stroll about the streets, after receiving the decisive note from McGregor, James and Hay, that Hurstwood found the letter Carrie had written him that morning. He thrilled intensely as he noted the handwriting, and rapidly tore it open.
"Then," he thought, "she loves me or she would not have written to me at all."
He was slightly depressed at the tenor of the note for the first few minutes, but soon recovered. "She wouldn't write at all if she didn't care for me."
This was his one resource against the depression which held him. He could extract little from the wording of the letter, but the spirit he thought he knew.
There was really something exceedingly human -- if not pathetic -- in his being thus relieved by a clearly worded reproof. He who had for so long remained satisfied with himself now looked outside of himself for comfort -- and to such a source. The mystic cords of affection! How they bind us all.
The colour came to his cheeks. For the moment he forgot the letter from McGregor, James and Hay. If he could only have Carrie, perhaps he could get out of the whole entanglement -- perhaps it would not matter. He wouldn't care what his wife did with herself if only he might not lose Carrie. He stood up and walked about, dreaming his delightful dream of a life continued with this lovely possessor of his heart.
It was not long, however, before the old worry was back for consideration, and with it what weariness! He thought of the morrow and the suit. He had done nothing, and here was the afternoon slipping away. It was now a quarter of four. At five the attorneys would have gone home. He still had the morrow until noon. Even as he thought, the last fifteen minutes passed away and it was five. Then he abandoned the thought of seeing them any more that day and turned to Carrie.
It is to be observed that the man did not justify himself to himself. He was not troubling about that. His whole thought was the possibility of persuading Carrie. Nothing was wrong in that. He loved her dearly. Their mutual happiness depended upon it. Would that Drouet were only away!
While he was thinking thus elatedly, he remembered that he wanted some clean linen in the morning.
This he purchased, together with a half-dozen ties, and went to the Palmer House. As he entered he thought he saw Drouet ascending the stairs with a key. Surely not Drouet! Then he thought, perhaps they had changed their abode temporarily. He went straight up to the desk.
"Is Mr. Drouet stopping here?" he asked of the clerk.
"I think he is," said the latter, consulting his private registry list. "Yes."
"Is that so?" exclaimed Hurstwood, otherwise concealing his astonishment. "Alone?" he added.
"Yes," said the clerk.
Hurstwood turned away and set his lips so as best to express and conceal his feelings.
"How's that?" he thought. "They've had a row."
He hastened to his room with rising spirits and changed his linen. As he did so, he made up his mind that if Carrie was alone, or if she had gone to another place, it behooved him to find out. He decided to call at once.
"I know what I'll do," he thought. "I'll go to the door and ask if Mr. Drouet is at home. That will bring out whether he is there or not and where Carrie is."
He was almost moved to some muscular display as he thought of it. He decided to go immediately after supper.
On coming down from his room at six, he looked carefully about to see if Drouet was present and then went out to lunch. He could scarcely eat, however, he was so anxious to be about his errand. Before starting he thought it well to discover where Drouet would be, and returned to his hotel.
"Has Mr. Drouet gone out?" he asked of the clerk.
"No," answered the latter, "he's in his room. Do you wish to send up a card?"
"No, I'll call around later," answered Hurstwood, and strolled out.
He took a Madison car and went direct to Ogden Place, this time walking boldly up to the door. The chambermaid answered his knock.
"Is Mr. Drouet in?" said Hurstwood blandly.
"He is out of the city," said the girl, who had heard Carrie tell this to Mrs. Hale.
"Is Mrs. Drouet in?"
"No, she has gone to the theatre."
"Is that so?" said Hurstwood, considerably taken back; then, as if burdened with something important, "You don't know to which theatre?"
The girl really had no idea where she had gone, but not liking Hurstwood, and wishing to cause him trouble, answered: "Yes, Hooley's."
"Thank you," returned the manager, and tipping his hat slightly, went away.
"I'll look in at Hooley's," thought he, but as a matter of fact he did not. Before he had reached the central portion of the city he thought the whole matter over and decided it would be useless. As much as he longed to see Carrie, he knew she would be with some one and did not wish to intrude with his plea there. A little later he might do so -- in the morning. Only in the morning he had the lawyer question before him.
This little pilgrimage threw quite a wet blanket upon his rising spirits. He was soon down again to his old worry, and reached the resort anxious to find relief. Quite a company of gentlemen were making the place lively with their conversation. A group of Cook County politicians were conferring about a round cherry-wood table in the rear portion of the room. Several young merry-makers were chattering at the bar before making a belated visit to the theatre. A shabbily-genteel individual, with a red nose and an old high hat, was sipping a quiet glass of ale alone at one end of the bar. Hurstwood nodded to the politicians and went into his office.
About ten o'clock a friend of his, Mr. Frank L. Taintor, a local sport and racing man, dropped in, and seeing Hurstwood alone in his office came to the door.
"Hello, George!" he exclaimed.
"How are you, Frank?" said Hurstwood, somewhat relieved by the sight of him. "Sit down," and he motioned him to one of the chairs in the little room.
"What's the matter, George?" asked Taintor. "You look a little glum. Haven't lost at the track, have you?"
"I'm not feeling very well to-night. I had a slight cold the other day."
"Take whiskey, George," said Taintor. "You ought to know that."
Hurstwood smiled.
While they were still conferring there, several other of Hurstwood's friends entered, and not long after eleven, the theatres being out, some actors began to drop in -- among them some notabilities.
Then began one of those pointless social conversations so common in America resorts where the would-be gilded attempt to rub off gilt from those who have it in abundance. If Hurstwood had one leaning, it was toward notabilities. He considered that, if anywhere, he belonged among them. He was too proud to toady, too keen not to strictly observe the plane he occupied when there were those present who did not appreciate him, but, in situations like the present, where he could shine as a gentleman and be received without equivocation as a friend and equal among men of known ability, he was most delighted. It was on such occasions, if ever, that he would "take something." When the social flavour was strong enough he would even unbend to the extent of drinking glass for glass with his associates, punctiliously observing his turn to pay as if he were an outsider like the others. If he ever approached intoxication -- or rather that ruddy warmth and comfortableness which precedes the more sloven state -- it was when individuals such as these were gathered about him, when he was one of a circle of chatting celebrities. To-night, disturbed as was his state, he was rather relieved to find company, and now that notabilities were gathered, he laid aside his troubles for the nonce, and joined in right heartily.
It was not long before the imbibing began to tell. Stories began to crop up -- those ever-enduring, droll stories which form the major portion of the conversation among American men under such circumstances.
Twelve o'clock arrived, the hour for closing, and with it the company took leave. Hurstwood shook hands with them most cordially. He was very roseate physically. He had arrived at that state where his mind, though clear, was, nevertheless, warm in its fancies. He felt as if his troubles were not very serious. Going into his office, he began to turn over certain accounts, awaiting the departure of the bartenders and the cashier, who soon left.
It was the manager's duty, as well as his custom, after all were gone to see that everything was safely closed up for the night. As a rule, no money except the cash taken in after banking hours was kept about the place, and that was locked in the safe by the cashier, who, with the owners, was joint keeper of the secret combination, but, nevertheless, Hurstwood nightly took the precaution to try the cash drawers and the safe in order to see that they were tightly closed. Then he would lock his own little office and set the proper light burning near the safe, after which he would take his departure.
Never in his experience had he found anything out of order, but to-night, after shutting down his desk, he came out and tried the safe. His way was to give a sharp pull. This time the door responded. He was slightly surprised at that, and looking in found the money cases as left for the day, apparently unprotected. His first thought was, of course, to inspect the drawers and shut the door.
"I'll speak to Mayhew about this to-morrow," he thought.
The latter had certainly imagined upon going out a half-hour before that he had turned the knob on the door so as to spring the lock. He had never failed to do so before. But to-night Mayhew had other thoughts. He had been revolving the problem of a business of his own.
"I'll look in here," thought the manager, pulling out the money drawers. He did not know why he wished to look in there. It was quite a superfluous action, which another time might not have happened at all.
As he did so, a layer of bills, in parcels of a thousand, such as banks issue, caught his eye. He could not tell how much they represented, but paused to view them. Then he pulled out the second of the cash drawers. In that were the receipts of the day.
"I didn't know Fitzgerald and Moy ever left any money this way," his mind said to itself. "They must have forgotten it."
He looked at the other drawer and paused again.
"Count them," said a voice in his ear.
He put his hand into the first of the boxes and lifted the stack, letting the separate parcels fall. They were bills of fifty and one hundred dollars done in packages of a thousand. He thought he counted ten such.
"Why don't I shut the safe?" his mind said to itself, lingering. "What makes me pause here?"
For answer there came the strangest words:
"Did you ever have ten thousand dollars in ready money?"
Lo, the manager remembered that he had never had so much. All his property had been slowly accumulated, and now his wife owned that. He was worth more than forty thousand, all told -- but she would get that.
He puzzled as he thought of these things, then pushed in the drawers and closed the door, pausing with his hand upon the knob, which might so easily lock it all beyond temptation. Still he paused. Finally he went to the windows and pulled down the curtains. Then he tried the door, which he had previously locked. What was this thing, making him suspicious? Why did he wish to move about so quietly. He came back to the end of the counter as if to rest his arm and think. Then he went and unlocked his little office door and turned on the light. He also opened his desk, sitting down before it, only to think strange thoughts.
"The safe is open," said a voice. "There is just the least little crack in it. The lock has not been sprung."
The manager floundered among a jumble of thoughts. Now all the entanglement of the day came back. Also the thought that here was a solution. That money would do it. If he had that and Carrie. He rose up and stood stock-still, looking at the floor.
"What about it?" his mind asked, and for answer he put his hand slowly up and scratched his head.
The manager was no fool to be led blindly away by such an errant proposition as this, but his situation was peculiar. Wine was in his veins. It had crept up into his head and given him a warm view of the situation. It also coloured the possibilities of ten thousand for him. He could see great opportunities with that. He could get Carrie. Oh, yes, he could! He could get rid of his wife. That letter, too, was waiting discussion to-morrow morning. He would not need to answer that. He went back to the safe and put his hand on the knob. Then he pulled the door open and took the drawer with the money quite out.
With it once out and before him, it seemed a foolish thing to think about leaving it. Certainly it would. Why, he could live quietly with Carrie for years.
Lord! what was that? For the first time he was tense, as if a stern hand had been laid upon his shoulder. He looked fearfully around. Not a soul was present. Not a sound. Some one was shuffling by on the sidewalk. He took the box and the money and put it back in the safe. Then he partly closed the door again.
To those who have never wavered in conscience, the predicament of the individual whose mind is less strongly constituted and who trembles in the balance between duty and desire is scarcely appreciable, unless graphically portrayed. Those who have never heard that solemn voice of the ghostly clock which ticks with awful distinctness, "thou shalt," "thou shalt not," "thou shalt," "thou shalt not," are in no position to judge. Not alone in sensitive, highly organised natures is such a mental conflict possible. The dullest specimen of humanity, when drawn by desire toward evil, is recalled by a sense of right, which is proportionate in power and strength to his evil tendency. We must remember that it may not be a knowledge of right, for no knowledge of right is predicated of the animal's instinctive recoil at evil. Men are still led by instinct before they are regulated by knowledge. It is instinct which recalls the criminal -- it is instinct (where highly organised reasoning is absent) which gives the criminal his feeling of danger, his fear of wrong.
At every first adventure, then, into some untried evil, the mind wavers. The clock of thought ticks out its wish and its denial. To those who have never experienced such a mental dilemma, the following will appeal on the simple ground of revelation.
When Hurstwood put the money back, his nature again resumed its ease and daring. No one had observed him. He was quite alone. No one could tell what he wished to do. He could work this thing out for himself.
The imbibation of the evening had not yet worn off. Moist as was his brow, tremble as did his hand once after the nameless fright, he was still flushed with the fumes of liquor. He scarcely noticed that the time was passing. He went over his situation once again, his eye always seeing the money in a lump, his mind always seeing what it would do. He strolled into his little room, then to the door, then to the safe again. He put his hand on the knob and opened it. There was the money! Surely no harm could come from looking at it!
He took out the drawer again and lifted the bills. They were so smooth, so compact, so portable. How little they made, after all. He decided he would take them. Yes, he would. He would put them in his pocket. Then he looked at that and saw they would not go there. His hand satchel! To be sure, his hand satchel. They would go in that -- all of it would. No one would think anything of it either. He went into the little office and took it from the shelf in the corner. Now he set it upon his desk and went out toward the safe. For some reason he did not want to fill it out in the big room.
First he brought the bills and then the loose receipts of the day. He would take it all. He put the empty drawers back and pushed the iron door almost to, then stood beside it meditating.
The wavering of a mind under such circumstances is an almost inexplicable thing, and yet it is absolutely true. Hurstwood could not bring himself to act definitely. He wanted to think about it -- to ponder over it, to decide whether it were best. He was drawn by such a keen desire for Carrie, driven by such a state of turmoil in his own affairs that he thought constantly it would be best, and yet he wavered. He did not know what evil might result from it to him -- how soon he might come to grief. The true ethics of the situation never once occurred to him, and never would have, under any circumstances.
After he had all the money in the hand bag, a revulsion of feeling seized him. He would not do it -- no! Think of what a scandal it would make. The police! They would be after him. He would have to fly, and where? Oh, the terror of being a fugitive from justice! He took out the two boxes and put all the money back. In his excitement he forgot what he was doing, and put the sums in the wrong boxes. As he pushed the door to, he thought he remembered doing it wrong and opened the door again. There were the two boxes mixed.
He took them out and straightened the matter, but now the terror had gone. Why be afraid?
While the money was in his hand the lock clicked. It had sprung! Did he do it? He grabbed at the knob and pulled vigorously. It had closed. Heavens! he was in for it now, sure enough.
The moment he realised that the safe was locked for a surety, the sweat burst out upon his brow and he trembled violently. He looked about him and decided instantly. There was no delaying now.
"Supposing I do lay it on the top," he said, "and go away, they'll know who took it. I'm the last to close up. Besides, other things will happen."
At once he became the man of action.
"I must get out of this," he thought.
He hurried into his little room, took down his light overcoat and hat, locked his desk, and grabbed the satchel. Then he turned out all but one light and opened the door. He tried to put on his old assured air, but it was almost gone. He was repenting rapidly.
"I wish I hadn't done that," he said. "That was a mistake."
He walked steadily down the street, greeting a night watchman whom he knew who was trying doors. He must get out of the city, and that quickly.
"I wonder how the trains run?" he thought.
Instantly he pulled out his watch and looked. It was nearly half-past one.
At the first drug store he stopped, seeing a long-distance telephone booth inside. It was a famous drug store, and contained one of the first private telephone booths ever erected.
"I want to use your 'phone a minute," he said to the night clerk.
The latter nodded.
"Give me 1643," he called to Central, after looking up the Michigan Central depot number. Soon he got the ticket agent.
"How do the trains leave here for Detroit?" he asked.
The man explained the hours.
"No more to-night?"
"Nothing with a sleeper. Yes, there is, too," he added. "There is a mail train out of here at three o'clock."
"All right," said Hurstwood. "What time does that get to Detroit?"
He was thinking if he could only get there and cross the river into Canada, he could take his time about getting to Montreal. He was relieved to learn that it would reach there by noon.
"Mayhew won't open the safe till nine," he thought. "They can't get on my track before noon."
Then he thought of Carrie. With what speed must he get her, if he got her at all. She would have to come along. He jumped into the nearest cab standing by.
"To Ogden Place," he said sharply. "I'll give you a dollar more if you make good time."
The cabby beat his horse into a sort of imitation gallop, which was fairly fast, however. On the way Hurstwood thought what to do. Reaching the number, he hurried up the steps and did not spare the bell in waking the servant.
"Is Mrs. Drouet in?" he asked.
"Yes," said the astonished girl.
"Tell her to dress and come to the door at once. Her husband is in the hospital, injured, and wants to see her."
The servant girl hurried upstairs, convinced by the man's strained and emphatic manner.
"What!" said Carrie, lighting the gas and searching for her clothes.
"Mr. Drouet is hurt and in the hospital. He wants to see you. The cab's downstairs."
Carrie dressed very rapidly, and soon appeared below, forgetting everything save the necessities.
"Drouet is hurt," said Hurstwood quickly. "He wants to see you. Come quickly."
Carrie was so bewildered that she swallowed the whole story.
"Get in," said Hurstwood, helping her and jumping after.
The cabby began to turn the horse around.
"Michigan Central depot," he said, standing up and speaking so low that Carrie could not hear, "as fast as you can go."
　赫斯渥收到麦·詹·海事务所的那份明确的通知以后，心烦意乱地上街转了一会儿，然后回到家时，才发现嘉莉那天早晨写给他的信。一看见信封上的笔迹，他激动万分，急忙将信拆开。 “这么说，”他想，“她是爱我的，否则她就压根不会给我写信。”起初几分钟，他对信的内容感到有点沮丧，但很快又振作起来。“若是她心里没我，就决不会写信的。”只有这么想，他才不致于沮丧透顶。从信的措辞上看不出什么，但他自以为能领会信的精神。
明摆着是一封谴责他的信，他竟能从中得到宽慰，倘若不是可悲，也是人性弱点的过份体现。这个一向自足的人，现在竟要从身外找寻安慰，而且是这样一种安慰。多么神奇的爱情绳索！我们谁也挣脱不了。
他的脸上又有了血色。他暂时把麦·詹·海事务所的来信置之脑后。但愿他能得到嘉莉，这样也许他就能摆脱一切纠葛--也许这就无关紧要了。只要不失去嘉莉，他就不在乎他太太要做什么。他站起身来，一边走动，一边做着今后和这个可爱的心上人共同生活的美梦。
可是没过多久，他的思路又回到了老问题上，真让人厌倦！他想到明天和那场诉讼。转眼一个下午就要过去了，他还什么都没做。现在是４点差１刻。５点钟律师们就会回家了。
他还有明天上午的时间。就在他想着这些时，最后１５分钟也过去了，到５点了。于是他不再想当天去见律师的事，而转念去想嘉莉。
值得一提的是，这人并不向自己证明自己是对的。他不屑烦这个神。他一门心思只是想着怎样说服嘉莉。这样做并没错。他很爱她，这是他们两人幸福的基矗杜洛埃这家伙不在就好了！
正当他美滋滋地想着这些时，他想起自己明天早晨没有干净的衬衫可换。
他买来衬衫，还买了半打领带，然后去帕尔默旅馆。进门时，他觉得似乎看见杜洛埃拿着钥匙上了楼。可千万别是杜洛埃！他又一想，也许他们临时换了个地方祝他直接去了柜台。
“杜洛埃先生住这儿吗？”他问帐房。
“我想是的，”帐房说，并查了一下他的旅客登记表。“是的，他住这儿。”“真是这样？”赫斯渥忍不住叫道，虽然他努力掩饰自己的吃惊。“他一个人吗？”他又问。
“是的，”帐房说。
赫斯渥转身走开。他紧闭双唇，尽量掩饰他的感情，可是正是这个举动将他的感情暴露无遗。
“怎么会这样呢？”他想。“他们是吵架了。”他急急忙忙、兴高采烈地去了自己的房间，把衬衫换了。
他在换衣服时暗下决心，不管嘉莉是一个人留在那里，还是去了别的地方，他都应该去弄个明白。他决定马上就去看看。
“我知道该怎么做，”他想。“我走到门口，问一声杜洛埃先生是否在家。这样就能知道他是否在那里以及嘉莉的去向。”他这样想着，兴奋得几乎要手舞足蹈了。他决定一吃完晚饭就去。
６点钟，他从房间下来时，仔细地看了看四周，杜洛埃不在。然后，他出去吃饭。可是他急着去办事，几乎什么也吃不下。动身前，他想最好确定一下杜洛埃此刻在哪里，于是又回到旅馆。
“杜洛埃先生出去了吗？”他问帐房。
“没有，”后者回答。“他在房间里，您想递张名片上去吗？”“不用了，我迟一点去拜访他。”赫斯渥说完就走了出去。
他上了一辆麦迪逊街的有轨电车直奔奥登公寓。这次他大胆地径直走到门口。女仆替他开了门。
“杜洛埃先生在家吗？”赫斯渥和悦地说。
“他出城了，”女仆说，她听到嘉莉是这样告诉海尔太太的。
“杜洛埃太太呢？”
“她不在家，去看戏了。”
“是吗？”赫斯渥说，着实吃了一惊。随后，他做出有要事的样子。“你知道她去了那家戏院？”实际上女仆并不知道她去了哪里，但是她讨厌赫斯渥，存心捉弄他，便答道：“知道，是胡利戏院。”“谢谢，”经理回答，他伸手轻轻地抬了抬帽子便离开了。
“我去胡利戏院找她，”他想，但是他并没有真去。在到达市中心之前，他把整件事情想了一遍，认定去了也没用。虽然他极想看见嘉莉，但是他也知道嘉莉现在有别人作伴，他不想闯去向她求情。晚些时候也行--明天早上吧。只是明天早上他还得去见律师。
这趟路跑得他大为扫兴。他很快又陷入了老烦恼，于是回到酒店，急着找寻安慰。一大群绅士在这地方聊天，很是热闹。
后面的一张樱桃木圆桌旁，围着一群当地的政客在谈着什么事。几个寻欢作乐的年青人，在酒吧边说个没完，去戏院为时已晚却还不想走。酒吧的一头有一个寒酸却又要体面的人，长着红鼻子，戴着顶旧礼帽，在那里安安静静地喝着淡啤酒。赫斯渥向政客们点点头后走进他的办公室。
１０点左右，他的一个朋友，弗兰克·勒·泰恩特先生，当地一个热衷体育和赛马的人，来到这里。看见赫斯渥一个人在办公室里，他走到门口。
“你好，乔治！”他叫道。
“你好吗，弗兰克？”赫斯渥说道，不知怎么看见他觉得轻松了一些。“请坐吧，”他向他指了指小房间里的一把椅子。
“怎么啦，乔治？”泰恩特问道。“你看上去有点不大高兴。
该不是赛马输了吧？”
“我今晚不太舒服。前些日子有点小伤风。”“喝点威士忌，乔治，”泰恩特说，“你该很在行的。”赫斯渥笑了笑。
他们还在那里谈话时，赫斯渥的另外几个朋友进来了。１１点过后不久，戏院散场了，开始有一些演员来到这里--其中还有些名角儿。
接下去便开始了美国娱乐场所最常见的那种毫无意义的社交性交谈，那些想成名的人总想从大名人那里沾点光。倘若赫斯渥有什么可倾心的，那就是倾心名流。他认为，若是替他划圈，他属于名流。如果在场的人中有不赏识他的，他很清高，不会去拍这些人的马屁，但他又很热心，依旧严格地履行着自己的职责。但是在像眼前这样的情况下，他就特别高兴。因为在这里他能像个绅士一样光彩照人，人们毫不含糊地把他视作名流的朋友同等看待。而且在这种场合，如果能碰到的话，他就会“喝上几杯”。当社交气氛很浓时，他甚至会放开与朋友们一杯对一杯地喝。轮到他付帐，他也规规矩矩地掏钱，就像他也同其他人一样，是个外来的顾客。如果他也曾差点喝醉过--或者说处于醉酒失态前脸红、发热、浑身舒坦的状态，那就是当他置身于这些人之中，当他也是闲谈的名流中的一份子。今晚，虽然他心绪不佳，但有人作伴他还是很觉宽慰。现在既然名流聚到了一起，他也就将自己的麻烦事暂时搁在一边，尽情地加入他们之中。
很快，喝酒喝得有效果了。大家开始讲故事--那些常讲不厌的滑稽故事，美国男人们在这种情况下谈话的主要内容就是这类故事。
１２点钟，打烊的时间到了，客人们开始离开。赫斯渥十分热忱地和他们握手道别。他浑身舒坦，处于那种头脑清醒，但却充满幻想的状态。他甚至觉得他的那些麻烦事也不那么严重了。他进了办公室，开始翻阅一些帐本，等着堂倌们和出纳离开。他们很快都走了。
等所有的人走后，看看是否每样东西都已锁好，能够安全过夜，这是经理的职责，也成了他的习惯。按照常规，只有银行关门后收的现金才会放在店里，由出纳锁在保险柜内。只有出纳和两位店东知道保险柜的密码。但是赫斯渥很谨慎，每晚都要拉拉放现金的抽屉和保险柜，看看是否都锁好了。然后，他锁上自己的小办公室，开亮保险柜旁的专用灯，这才离开。
他从未发现任何东西出过差错，可是今晚，他锁好自己的写字台后，出来检查保险柜。他检查的方法是用力拉一拉门。
这次他一拉，保险柜的门竟开了。这令他有点吃惊，他朝里看了看，发现装钱的抽屉里像白天那样放着，显然没有收好。他的第一个念头当然是检查一下抽屉并把门关上。
“明天，我要和马休说一下这事，”他想。
马休半小时前离开时，肯定以为自己将门上的锁钮旋到了位，门锁上了。他以前从来都是锁好门的。但今晚马休另有心事，他一直在盘算自己的一笔生意。
“我来看看里面，”经理想着，拉出装钱的抽屉。他不知道自己为什么会想看看里面。这完全是多此一举，换个时间也许就根本不会发生的。
他拉出抽屉，一眼就看见一叠钞票，１０００元一扎，像是从银行取来的原封。他不知道这有多少钱，便停住仔细看看。随后，他拉出第二个现金抽屉，里面装着当天的进款。
“据我所知，费茨杰拉德和莫埃从未这样放过钱，”他心里自言自语。“他们一定是忘了。”他看看另一只抽屉，又停住了。
“数一数，”一个声音在他耳边说。
他把手伸进第一只抽屉，拿起那叠钞票，让他们一扎扎地散落下来。这些钞票有５０元票面和１００元票，一扎有１０００元。他想他数了有十扎这样的钞票。
“我为什么不关上保险柜？”他心里自言自语，迟疑不决。
“是什么使我还呆在这儿？”
回答他的是一句非常奇怪的话。
“你曾有过１万块钱的现钞吗？”
瞧，经理记得他从未有过这么多钱。他的全部财产都是慢慢攒起来的，现在却归他太太所有。他的财产总共价值４万多块--都要成为她的了。
他想着这些，感到困惑。然后他推进抽屉，关上门，手放在锁钮上停住了。这锁钮只消轻轻一旋，就可以将保险柜锁上，也就不再有什么诱惑了。可是他仍旧停在那里。最终，他走到窗边拉下窗帘。他又拉了拉门，在此之前，他已经把门锁上了。
是什么使他这么多疑？他为什么要如此悄悄地走动？他回到柜台的一端，像是要在那里枕着胳膊，好好想一想。然后，他去开了他的小办公室的门，开亮灯。他连写字台都打开了，坐在台前，开始胡思乱想。
“保险柜是开的，”一个声音说。“就差那么一小条缝。锁还没锁上。”经理脑子里一团乱麻。这时，他又想起白天的全部纠葛。
也想到眼前就有条出路。那笔钱就能解决问题。要是既有那钱又有嘉莉该有多好！他站起身来，一动不动地立在那里，眼睛盯着地板。
“这办法怎么样？”他心里问。为找寻答案，他慢慢地抬起手来抓抓头。
经理可不傻，还不至于会盲目地被这样的一念之差引入岐途，但是他今天的情况特殊。他的血管里流着酒。酒劲上了头，使他对眼前的处境有些头脑发热。酒也渲染了一万块钱可能为他带来的好处。他能看见这笔钱为他提供的大好机会。他能够得到嘉莉。啊，他真的能够得到她！他可以摆脱他的太太，还有那封明天早上要谈的信。他也不用给予答复了。他回到保险柜旁，把手放在锁钮上。然后，他拉开门，把装钱的抽屉整个儿拿了出来。
一旦抽屉完全展现在他面前，再想不去动它似乎很愚蠢了。当然愚蠢。嗨，有了这些钱，他可以安安静静地和嘉莉生活很多年。
天哪！怎么回事？他第一次紧张起来，好像一只严厉的手抓住了他的肩膀。他恐惧地看看四周。一个人也没有，一点声音都没有。外面的人行道上有人拖着脚走过。他拿起抽屉和钱，把它放回保险柜。然后，他又将门半掩上。
对于一个意志不够坚强，在责任与欲望之间徘徊不定的人所处的困境，那些良心上从不动摇的人很难理解，除非有人细细地向他们描绘。那些从未听过那内心深处幽灵般的时钟，用庄严的声音滴答滴答清清楚楚地告诉你“你应该”、“你不应该”、“你应该”、“你不应该”的人，根本没有资格对此加以评判。过种思想斗争，不仅那些思维敏捷且很有条理的人会有。
即使那些最愚蠢的人，当欲望驱使他去犯罪时，正义感也会去提醒阻止他，而且犯罪倾向越大，正义感也越强。我们必须记住，这也许并不是对正义的认识，因为动物本能地畏惧罪恶，但并不基于它们对正义有所认识。人在受知识控制之前，仍旧受本能的支配。正是本能在提醒罪犯--正是本能（当不存在很有条理的推理时）使罪犯有了危险感，害怕做错事。
因此，每当人们第一次冒险，去干某种从未干过的罪恶勾当时，心里总会犹豫不决。思想的时钟滴答滴答地表达着欲望和克制。那些从未经历过这种思想困境的人，会喜欢下面的故事，因为它给人以启示。
赫斯渥把钱放回去以后，又恢复了他那从容大胆的气度。
没有人看见他，就他一个人。谁也不知道他想干什么。他可以自己处理好这件事。
晚上的酒劲还没有完全消失。尽管在经历了那阵无名的恐惧后，他额头冒汗，手也发抖，但是他仍旧给酒气弄得满脸通红。他几乎没注意到时间在消逝。他又考虑了一遍自己的处境，眼睛老是看见那些钱，心里老是想着那些钱可派的用常他走进自己的小房间，又回到门口，又来到保险柜旁。他伸手拉住锁钮，打开了保险柜。钱就在里面。看一看总不会有什么害处吧。
他又拿出抽屉，拿起那些钞票。这钞票多么光滑、多么结实、多么便于携带。也就是很小的一包而已。他决定拿走它们。
是的，他要拿。他要把它们装进自己的口袋。他又看看那些钱，觉得口袋装不下。对了，他的手提包！手提包肯定行！那些钱能装下--全都装得下，而且没人会怀疑手提包。他走进小办公室，从墙角的架子上取下手提包。他把包放在写字台上，出来走到保险柜旁。因为某种原因，他不想在外边的大房间里往包里装钱。
他先拿了那些钞票，然后又拿了当天进的散钱。他要全部拿走。他把空抽屉放回去，推上铁门，差一点就关严了，然后站在旁边沉思起来。
在这种情况下，心里的那种犹豫不决，几乎是件不可思议的事，但却是千真万确的。赫斯渥无法让自己果断行事。他要好好想一想--仔细地考虑一下，决定这是否是上策。他这么想要嘉莉，那些乱七八糟的私事又逼得他走投无路，他一直认为这是个上策，但是他还在犹豫。他不知道这样做会给他带来什么恶果--他什么时候会遇到麻烦。至于这件事本身对不对，他从未想过。在任何情况下，他都决不会想到这一点。
当他把所有的钱都装进手提包后，他突然想变卦。他不能这样做--不能！想想这会成为多大的丑闻。还有那些警察！
他们会追捕他的。他得逃走，但逃到哪里去呢？唉呀，成为一个躲避法律的逃犯是多么可怕！他拿出两个抽屉，把所有的钱又放了回去。慌乱中，他忘了自己在干什么，把钱放错了抽屉。
当他关上保险柜的门时，他想起没放对，又把门打开。两只抽屉弄错了。
他把抽屉拿出来，重新放好钱，可是这时恐惧感消失了。
为什么要害怕呢？
他手里还拿着钱时，保险柜的锁咔嗒一响，锁上了！是他锁的吗？他抓住锁钮使劲地拉。锁死了。天哪，现在他肯定脱不了关系了。
当他一意识到保险柜的确锁上了。他额头直冒冷汗，身上一个劲地抖。他看了看周围，立刻作了决定。现在不能耽搁了。
“就算我把钱放在保险柜顶上，”他说，“然后走开，他们照样会知道是谁拿的。我是最后一个关门的。另外，还会发生其它的事情。”他立刻变成了行动果断的人。
“我得离开这里，”他想。
他慌慌忙忙地走进他的小房间，取下他的轻便大衣和帽子，锁好写字台，拎起手提包。然后，他关了所有的灯，只留下一盏亮着，开门出来。他试图装出平日里那副自信的样子，但几乎做不到。他很快就后悔了。“但愿我没干这个，”他说，“这是个错误。”他照直沿着街走下去，碰到一个认识的查夜人在检查门户，还打了声招呼。他得出城去，而且要快。
“不知道什么时候有火车，”他想。
他立刻取出怀表看了看。这时快１点半了。
走到第一家药店，他看见店里有个长途电话间，于是停了下来。这是家很有名气的药店，装有私人电话间。
“我想借用一下你们的电话，”他对夜班职员说。
后者点点头。
“请接１６４３，”他查到了密执安中心火车站的号码后，对总机说。很快就接通了售票员。
“去底特律有什么时间的火车？”他问。
那人说了几个开车时间。
“今天夜里没有车了吗？”
“没有挂卧汽车厢的车。噢，对了，还有一班，”他补充说。
“有一班邮车３点钟从这里开出。”
“好的，”赫斯渥说。“那班车什么时候到达底特律。”他在想。只要他到了底特律，从那里过河进入加拿大，他就可以从从容容地去蒙特利尔了。当他得知火车中午就到，心里感到轻松了一些。
“马休要到９点才会打开保险柜，”他想。“他们中午之前是找不到我的行踪的。”这时，他想起了嘉莉。他若想真的得到嘉莉，必须火速行动。她得一起走。他跳上旁边最近的一辆马车。
“去奥登公寓，”他厉声说。“如果你跑得快，我加你一块钱。”车夫鞭打他的马，使它做出飞奔的样子，不过还是比较快。一路上，赫斯渥想好了怎么去做。到了公寓，他急忙跨上台阶，照旧按铃叫醒了女仆。
“杜洛埃太太在家吗？”他问。
“在家，”女孩吃惊地说。
“告诉她马上穿好衣服到门口来。他丈夫受了伤，人在医院里，他要见她。”女仆看到这个人紧张而郑重的神情，相信了，急忙上楼去。
“什么？”嘉莉说。她点亮煤气灯，找衣服穿。
“杜洛埃先生受了伤，人在医院里，他要见你。马车在楼下等着。”嘉莉飞快地穿好衣服，很快下来了，除了几件必需品，什么都没有拿。
“杜洛埃受伤了，”赫斯渥说得很快。“他要见你，快走。”嘉莉完全被弄糊涂了，想也没想就相信了这一切。
“上车吧，”赫斯渥说，扶她上了车，随后自己也跳上车。
车夫开始调转马头。
“去密执安中心火车站，”他站起身来说道，声音压得很低，以免嘉莉听见。“越快越好。”
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Chapter 28 A PILGRIM, AN OUTLAW: THE SPIRIT DETAINED
The cab had not travelled a short block before Carrie, settling herself and thoroughly waking in the night atmosphere, asked:
"What's the matter with him? Is he hurt badly?"
"It isn't anything very serious," Hurstwood said solemnly. He was very much disturbed over his own situation, and now that he had Carrie with him, he only wanted to get safely out of reach of the law. Therefore he was in no mood for anything save such words as would further his plans distinctly.
Carrie did not forget that there was something to be settled between her and Hurstwood, but the thought was ignored in her agitation. The one thing was to finish this strange pilgrimage.
"Where is he?"
"Way out on the South Side," said Hurstwood. "We'll have to take the train. It's the quickest way."
Carrie said nothing, and the horse gambolled on. The weirdness of the city by night held her attention. She looked at the long receding rows of lamps and studied the dark, silent houses.
"How did he hurt himself?" she asked -- meaning what was the nature of his injuries. Hurstwood understood. He hated to lie any more than necessary, and yet he wanted no protests until he was out of danger.
"I don't know exactly," he said. "They just called me up to go and get you and bring you out. They said there wasn't any need for alarm, but that I shouldn't fail to bring you."
The man's serious manner convinced Carrie, and she became silent, wondering.
Hurstwood examined his watch and urged the man to hurry. For one in so delicate a position he was exceedingly cool. He could only think of how needful it was to make the train and get quietly away. Carrie seemed quite tractable, and he congratulated himself.
In due time they reached the depot, and after helping her out he handed the man a five-dollar bill and hurried on.
"You wait here," he said to Carrie, when they reached the waiting-room, "while I get the tickets."
"Have I much time to catch the train for Detroit?" he asked of the agent.
"Four minutes," said the latter.
He paid for two tickets as circumspectly as possible.
"Is it far?" said Carrie, as he hurried back.
"Not very," he said. "We must get right in."
He pushed her before him at the gate, stood between her and the ticket man while the latter punched their tickets, so that she could not see, and then hurried after.
There was a long line of express and passenger cars and one or two common day coaches. As the train had only recently been made up and few passengers were expected, there were only one or two brakemen waiting. They entered the rear day coach and sat down. Almost immediately, "All aboard," resounded faintly from the outside, and the train started.
Carrie began to think it was a little bit curious -- this going to a depot -- but said nothing. The whole incident was so out of the natural that she did not attach too much weight to anything she imagined.
"How have you been?" asked Hurstwood gently, for he now breathed easier.
"Very well," said Carrie, who was so disturbed that she could not bring a proper attitude to bear in the matter. She was still nervous to reach Drouet and see what could be the matter. Hurstwood contemplated her and felt this. He was not disturbed that it should be so. He did not trouble because she was moved sympathetically in the matter. It was one of the qualities in her which pleased him exceedingly. He was only thinking how he should explain. Even this was not the most serious thing in his mind, however. His own deed and present flight were the great shadows which weighed upon him.
"What a fool I was to do that," he said over and over. "What a mistake!"
In his sober senses, he could scarcely realise that the thing had been done. He could not begin to feel that he was a fugitive from justice. He had often read of such things, and had thought they must be terrible, but now that the thing was upon him, he only sat and looked into the past. The future was a thing which concerned the Canadian line. He wanted to reach that. As for the rest, he surveyed his actions for the evening, and counted them parts of a great mistake.
"Still," he said, "what could I have done?"
Then he would decide to make the best of it, and would begin to do so by starting the whole inquiry over again. It was a fruitless, harassing round, and left him in a queer mood to deal with the proposition he had in the presence of Carrie.
The train clacked through the yards along the lake front, and ran rather slowly to Twenty-fourth Street. Brakes and signals were visible without. The engine gave short calls with its whistle, and frequently the bell rang. Several brakemen came through, bearing lanterns. They were locking the vestibules and putting the cars in order for a long run.
Presently it began to gain speed, and Carrie saw the silent streets flashing by in rapid succession. The engine also began its whistle-calls of four parts, with which it signalled danger to important crossings.
"Is it very far?" asked Carrie.
"Not so very," said Hurstwood. He could hardly repress a smile at her simplicity. He wanted to explain and conciliate her, but he also wanted to be well out of Chicago.
In the lapse of another half-hour it became apparent to Carrie that it was quite a run to wherever he was taking her, anyhow.
"Is it in Chicago?" she asked nervously. They were now far beyond the city limits, and the train was scudding across the Indiana line at a great rate.
"No," he said, "not where we are going."
There was something in the way he said this which aroused her in an instant.
Her pretty brow began to contract.
"We are going to see Charlie, aren't we?" she asked.
He felt that the time was up. An explanation might as well come now as later. Therefore, he shook his head in the most gentle negative.
"What?" said Carrie. She was nonplussed at the possibility of the errand being different from what she had thought.
He only looked at her in the most kindly and mollifying way.
"Well, where are you taking me, then?" she asked, her voice showing the quality of fright.
"I'll tell you, Carrie, if you'll be quiet. I want you to come along with me to another city."
"Oh," said Carrie, her voice rising into a weak cry. "Let me off. I don't want to go with you."
She was quite appalled at the man's audacity. This was something which had never for a moment entered her head. Her one thought now was to get off and away. If only the flying train could be stopped, the terrible trick would be amended.
She arose and tried to push out into the aisle -- anywhere. She knew she had to do something. Hurstwood laid a gentle hand on her.
"Sit still, Carrie," he said. "Sit still. It won't do you any good to get up here. Listen to me and I'll tell you what I'll do. Wait a moment."
She was pushing at his knees, but he only pulled her back. No one saw this little altercation, for very few persons were in the car, and they were attempting to doze.
"I won't," said Carrie, who was, nevertheless, complying against her will. "Let me go," she said. "How dare you?" and large tears began to gather in her eyes.
Hurstwood was now fully aroused to the immediate difficulty, and ceased to think of his own situation. He must do something with this girl, or she would cause him trouble. He tried the art of persuasion with all his powers aroused.
"Look here now, Carrie," he said, "you mustn't act this way. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I don't want to do anything to make you feel bad."
"Oh," sobbed Carrie, "oh, oh -- oo -- o!"
"There, there," he said, "you mustn't cry. Won't you listen to me? Listen to me a minute, and I'll tell you why I came to do this thing. I couldn't help it. I assure you I couldn't. Won't you listen?"
Her sobs disturbed him so that he was quite sure she did not hear a word he said.
"Won't you listen?" he asked.
"No, I won't," said Carrie, flashing up. "I want you to take me out of this, or I'll tell the conductor. I won't go with you. It's a shame," and again sobs of fright cut off her desire for expression.
Hurstwood listened with some astonishment. He felt that she had just cause for feeling as she did, and yet he wished that he could straighten this thing out quickly. Shortly the conductor would come through for the tickets. He wanted no noise, no trouble of any kind. Before everything he must make her quiet.
"You couldn't get out until the train stops again," said Hurstwood. "It won't be very long until we reach another station. You can get out then if you want to. I won't stop you. All I want you to do is to listen a moment. You'll let me tell you, won't you?"
Carrie seemed not to listen. She only turned her head toward the window, where outside all was black. The train was speeding with steady grace across the fields and through patches of wood. The long whistles came with sad, musical effect as the lonely woodland crossings were approached.
Now the conductor entered the car and took up the one or two fares that had been added at Chicago. He approached Hurstwood, who handed out the tickets. Poised as she was to act, Carrie made no move. She did not look about.
When the conductor had gone again Hurstwood felt relieved.
"You're angry at me because I deceived you," he said. "I didn't mean to, Carrie. As I live I didn't. I couldn't help it. I couldn't stay away from you after the first time I saw you."
He was ignoring the last deception as something that might go by the board. He wanted to convince her that his wife could no longer be a factor in their relationship. The money he had stolen he tried to shut out of his mind.
"Don't talk to me," said Carrie, "I hate you. I want you to go away from me. I am going to get out at the very next station."
She was in a tremble of excitement and opposition as she spoke.
"All right," he said, "but you'll hear me out, won't you? After all you have said about loving me, you might hear me. I don't want to do you any harm. I'll give you the money to go back with when you go. I merely want to tell you, Carrie. You can't stop me from loving you, whatever you may think."
He looked at her tenderly, but received no reply.
"You think I have deceived you badly, but I haven't. I didn't do it willingly. I'm through with my wife. She hasn't any claims on me. I'll never see her any more. That's why I'm here to-night. That's why I came and got you."
"You said Charlie was hurt," said Carrie, savagely. "You deceived me. You've been deceiving me all the time, and now you want to force me to run away with you."
She was so excited that she got up and tried to get by him again. He let her, and she took another seat. Then he followed.
"Don't run away from me, Carrie," he said gently. "Let me explain. If you will only hear me out you will see where I stand. I tell you my wife is nothing to me. She hasn't been anything for years or I wouldn't have ever come near you. I'm going to get a divorce just as soon as I can. I'll never see her again. I'm done with all that. You're the only person I want. If I can have you I won't ever think of another woman again."
Carrie heard all this in a very ruffled state. It sounded sincere enough, however, despite all he had done. There was a tenseness in Hurstwood's voice and manner which could but have some effect. She did not want anything to do with him. He was married, he had deceived her once, and now again, and she thought him terrible. Still there is something in such daring and power which is fascinating to a woman, especially if she can be made to feel that it is all prompted by love of her.
The progress of the train was having a great deal to do with the solution of this difficult situation. The speeding wheels and disappearing country put Chicago farther and farther behind. Carrie could feel that she was being borne a long distance off -- that the engine was making an almost through run to some distant city. She felt at times as if she could cry out and make such a row that some one would come to her aid; at other times it seemed an almost useless thing -- so far was she from any aid, no matter what she did. All the while Hurstwood was endeavouring to formulate his plea in such a way that it would strike home and bring her into sympathy with him.
"I was simply put where I didn't know what else to do."
Carrie deigned no suggestion of hearing this.
"When I saw you wouldn't come unless I could marry you, I decided to put everything else behind me and get you to come away with me. I'm going off now to another city. I want to go to Montreal for a while, and then anywhere you want to. We'll go and live in New York, if you say."
"I'll not have anything to do with you," said Carrie. "I want to get off this train. Where are we going?"
"To Detroit," said Hurstwood.
"Oh!" said Carrie, in a burst of anguish. So distant and definite a point seemed to increase the difficulty.
"Won't you come along with me?" he said, as if there was great danger that she would not. "You won't need to do anything but travel with me. I'll not trouble you in any way. You can see Montreal and New York, and then if you don't want to stay you can go back. It will be better than trying to go back to-night."
The first gleam of fairness shone in this proposition for Carrie. It seemed a plausible thing to do, much as she feared his opposition if she tried to carry it out. Montreal and New York! Even now she was speeding toward those great, strange lands, and could see them if she liked. She thought, but made no sign.
Hurstwood thought he saw a shade of compliance in this. He redoubled his ardour.
"Think," he said, "what I've given up. I can't go back to Chicago any more. I've got to stay away and live alone now, if you don't come with me. You won't go back on me entirely, will you, Carrie?"
"I don't want you to talk to me," she answered forcibly.
Hurstwood kept silent for a while.
Carrie felt the train to be slowing down. It was the moment to act if she was to act at all. She stirred uneasily.
"Don't think of going, Carrie," he said. "If you ever cared for me at all, come along and let's start right. I'll do whatever you say. I'll marry you, or I'll let you go back. Give yourself time to think it over. I wouldn't have wanted you to come if I hadn't loved you. I tell you, Carrie, before God, I can't live without you. I won't!"
There was the tensity of fierceness in the man's plea which appealed deeply to her sympathies. It was a dissolving fire which was actuating him now. He was loving her too intensely to think of giving her up in this, his hour of distress. He clutched her hand nervously and pressed it with all the force of an appeal.
The train was now all but stopped. It was running by some cars on a side track. Everything outside was dark and dreary. A few sprinkles on the window began to indicate that it was raining. Carrie hung in a quandary, balancing between decision and helplessness. Now the train stopped, and she was listening to his plea. The engine backed a few feet and all was still.
She wavered, totally unable to make a move. Minute after minute slipped by and still she hesitated, he pleading.
"Will you let me come back if I want to?" she asked, as if she now had the upper hand and her companion was utterly subdued.
"Of course," he answered, "you know I will."
Carrie only listened as one who has granted a temporary amnesty. She began to feel as if the matter were in her hands entirely.
The train was again in rapid motion. Hurstwood changed the subject.
"Aren't you very tired?" he said.
"No," she answered.
"Won't you let me get you a berth in the sleeper?"
She shook her head, though for all her distress and his trickery she was beginning to notice what she had always felt -- his thoughtfulness.
"Oh, yes," he said, "you will feel so much better."
She shook her head.
"Let me fix my coat for you, anyway," and he arose and arranged his light coat in a comfortable position to receive her head.
"There," he said tenderly, "now see if you can't rest a little." He could have kissed her for her compliance. He took his seat beside her and thought a moment.
"I believe we're in for a heavy rain," he said.
"So it looks," said Carrie, whose nerves were quieting under the sound of the rain drops, driven by a gusty wind, as the train swept on frantically through the shadow to a newer world.
The fact that he had in a measure mollified Carrie was a source of satisfaction to Hurstwood, but it furnished only the most temporary relief. Now that her opposition was out of the way, he had all of his time to devote to the consideration of his own error.
His condition was bitter in the extreme, for he did not want the miserable sum he had stolen. He did not want to be a thief. That sum or any other could never compensate for the state which he had thus foolishly doffed. It could not give him back his host of friends, his name, his house and family, nor Carrie, as he had meant to have her. He was shut out from Chicago -- from his easy, comfortable state. He had robbed himself of his dignity, his merry meetings, his pleasant evenings. And for what? The more he thought of it the more unbearable it became. He began to think that he would try and restore himself to his old state. He would return the miserable thievings of the night and explain. Perhaps Moy would understand. Perhaps they would forgive him and let him come back.
By noontime the train rolled into Detroit and he began to feel exceedingly nervous. The police must be on his track by now. They had probably notified all the police of the big cities, and detectives would be watching for him. He remembered instances in which defaulters had been captured. Consequently, he breathed heavily and paled somewhat. His hands felt as if they must have something to do. He simulated interest in several scenes without which he did not feel. He repeatedly beat his foot upon the floor.
Carrie noticed his agitation, but said nothing. She had no idea what it meant or that it was important.
He wondered now why he had not asked whether this train went on through to Montreal or some Canadian point. Perhaps he could have saved time. He jumped up and sought the conductor.
"Does any part of this train go to Montreal?" he asked.
"Yes, the next sleeper back does."
He would have asked more, but it did not seem wise, so he decided to inquire at the depot.
The train rolled into the yards, clanging and puffing.
"I think we had better go right on through to Montreal," he said to Carrie. "I'll see what the connections are when we get off."
He was exceedingly nervous, but did his best to put on a calm exterior. Carrie only looked at him with large, troubled eyes. She was drifting mentally, unable to say to herself what to do.
The train stopped and Hurstwood led the way out. He looked warily around him, pretending to look after Carrie. Seeing nothing that indicated studied observation, he made his way to the ticket office.
"The next train for Montreal leaves when?" he asked.
"In twenty minutes," said the man.
He bought two tickets and Pullman berths. Then he hastened back to Carrie.
"We go right out again," he said, scarcely noticing that Carrie looked tired and weary.
"I wish I was out of all this," she exclaimed gloomily.
"You'll feel better when we reach Montreal," he said.
"I haven't an earthly thing with me," said Carrie; "not even a handkerchief."
"You can buy all you want as soon as you get there, dearest," he explained. "You can call in a dressmaker."
Now the crier called the train ready and they got on. Hurstwood breathed a sigh of relief as it started. There was a short run to the river, and there they were ferried over. They had barely pulled the train off the ferry-boat when he settled back with a sigh.
"It won't be so very long now," he said, remembering her in his relief. "We get there the first thing in the morning."
Carrie scarcely deigned to reply.
"I'll see if there is a dining-car," he added. "I'm hungry."
马车刚走了一小段路，嘉莉就镇定了下来，夜晚的空气使她完全清醒了。 “他出什么事了？伤得重吗？”
“不是很重。”赫斯渥神情严肃地说。他被自己的处境弄得心慌意乱，现在既然嘉莉已经在他身边，他只想起安地逃脱法网。因此，除了明显有助于实现他的计划的话以外，他什么也不愿意说。
嘉莉没有忘记，她和赫斯渥之间还有未了结的事，但是她现在很焦虑，也就顾不上想它了。她只想结束这段奇怪的旅程。
“他在哪里？”
“在南区，离这里很远，”赫斯渥说。“我们得乘火车去，这样最快。”嘉莉没再说话，马在继续奔跑。夜间城市的古怪景象吸引了她的注意力。她看着那长长的、一排排向后退去的路灯，琢磨着那些黑暗沉默的房屋。
“他怎么受的伤？”她问--意思是到底伤得怎样。赫斯渥懂得她的意思。除非不得已，他不愿意多撒一句谎，但是在他脱险之前，他不想嘉莉有任何抗议。
“具体的我也不知道，”他说。“他们只是叫我来找你，把你带去。他们说没必要惊慌，只是我必须带你去。”这个人的态度严肃，嘉莉相信了他，于是她不再说话，心里犯着嘀咕。
赫斯渥看看表，催车夫再快点。就一个处境如此微妙的人而言，他倒是出奇地冷静。他一心只想着，最重要的是赶上火车，悄悄离开。嘉莉看上去很温顺，他暗自感到庆幸。
他们及时到达了车站，他扶她下车后，递给车夫一张５块的钞票，赶忙进站。
“你等在这里，”到了候车室，他对嘉莉说，“我去买票。”“我能赶上去底特律的火车吗？”他问售票员。
“还有４分钟，”售票员说。
他小心翼翼地付了两张票的钱。
“那地方远吗？”当他匆匆回来时，嘉莉说。
“不太远，”他说。“我们得马上上车。”在进口处，他把她推在前面走。检票员检票时，他站到她和检票员之间，挡住她的视线，然后赶快跟上去。
站内停着一长列快车和客车，还有一两辆普通的硬席客车。因为这班火车是最近新开的，乘客不会多，所以只有一两个列车机务员等在那里。他们上了后面的一辆硬席客车。刚坐下，就听见外面隐约传来叫喊声：“乘客们，请上车！”接着，火车开动了。
嘉莉开始觉得这事有点蹊跷--这样来到一个火车站--但是没有说话。整个这件事情都是这样异常，她对自己心里想的事也就不大重视了。
“你过得好吗？”现在赫斯渥感觉轻松一些了，于是温柔地问道。
“很好，”嘉莉说。她心里很乱，不知道对这件事情该采取什么样的态度才合适。她仍然急着想见到杜洛埃，看看他到底出了什么事。赫斯渥打量着她，感觉到了这一点。但是这并没有令他不安。他并不因为她在这件事上表现出的同情和激动而感到烦恼。这正是她的美德之一，他对此十分欣赏。他只是在考虑该怎么向她解释。然而，在他心中，甚至连这一点也还不是最严重的问题。他自己犯下的事和眼前的逃跑则是沉重地压在他心头的巨大阴影。
“我真傻呀，竟然会做出那种事，”他反复地说，“这是多么大的错误啊！”他现在清醒了，几乎不相信自己真的干了那件事，他无法想象自己成了一个逍遥法外的罪犯。他经常从报上看到这种事，想象着那一定很可怕。可是现在这种事落到了他自己的头上，他却只是坐在这里，缅怀着过去。将来是和加拿大边界连在一起的。他想去那里。至于其它的事，他回顾了一下今晚的所有行动，认为都是一桩大错的组成部分。
“况且，”他说，“我又能怎么做呢？”
于是他决定尽量挽回这件事的影响，为此他又把整个事情考虑了一遍。但是这样反复考虑仍然毫无结果而且令人烦恼，弄得他在面对嘉莉实行自己的计划时，都有些神经兮兮的了。
火车隆隆地穿过湖边的车场，慢慢地朝二十四街驶去。车外的分轨闸和信号灯清晰可见。机车的汽笛发出短促的呜呜声，车铃也不时地响着。几个列车机务员提着灯走过。他们把车厢之间通廊的门锁上，整理好车厢，准备作长途旅行。
很快，火车开始加速，嘉莉看见沉静的街道接连迅速地闪过。机车也开始在过重要的道口时，发出断续四响的汽笛声，作为危险信号。
“那地方很远吗？”嘉莉问。
“不太远，”赫斯渥说。见她如此天真，他都忍不住想笑了。
他想向她解释，安慰她，但是他还是想先远离芝加哥再说。
又过了半个钟头，嘉莉开始明白，他要带她去的地方，不管是哪里，总之是个很远的地方。
“那地方在芝加哥城里吗？”她紧张地问。他们这时早已远离市区范围，火车正飞速越过印第安纳州界。
“不，”他说，“我们去的地方不在芝加哥。”他说这话的口气立刻使她警觉起来。
她那美丽的前额开始皱了起来。
“我们是去看查利，不是吗？”她问。
他觉得是时候了。迟早都要解释，现在就解释也一样。因此，他极其温柔地摇摇头表示否定。
“什么？”嘉莉说。她想到这趟出门与她先前想的可能不一样，一时间不知所措。
他只是用十分体贴和安抚的目光看着她。
“哦，那么，你要带我去哪里？”她问，声音里透着恐惧。
“如果你能安静下来的话，嘉莉，我会告诉你的。我要你跟我一起去另一个城市。”“啊，”嘉莉说，她的声音响了起来，变成了一声柔弱的呼喊。“让我走。我不想跟你去。”这家伙的大胆无礼把她吓坏了。她的头脑里从未想到过会有这种事情。她现在只有一个念头，就是下车离开他。要是能让这飞驰的火车停下来就好了，这样就可以挽回这场可怕的骗局。
她站起身来，想用力走到过道上--什么地方都行。她知道她得采取行动，赫斯渥伸出一只手，轻轻地按住了她。
“坐着别动，嘉莉，”他说，“坐着别动，现在站起来对你没有任何好处。听我说，我会告诉你我将怎么做。请等一会儿。”她在推着他的膝头，而他只是把她拉了回来。没有人注意到这场小小的争吵，困为车厢里人很少，而且都想打瞌睡了。
“我不愿意，”嘉莉说，可是她还是违心地坐了下来。“让我走，”她叫道。“你怎么敢这样？”她的眼睛里开始涌出大滴眼泪。
赫斯渥现在得全神贯注地对付眼前的麻烦，他不再去想自己的处境。他必须先把这姑娘安顿好，否则她会给他带来麻烦的。他使出浑身解数，试图说服她。
“现在你听着，嘉莉，”他说。“你没必要这样做。我并没想让你伤心。我不想做任何令你难过的事。”“唉，”嘉莉啜泣着。“唉，唉--呜--呜。”“好了，好了，”他说。“你不用哭了。听我说好吗？就听我说一分钟，我会告诉你我为什么要这样做。我没有其它的办法。我向你保证，我真是想不出别的办法。你听我说好吗？”他被她的啜泣弄得十分不安，以为他说的话她肯定一句也没听见。
“你听我说好吗？”他问。
“不，我不要听。”嘉莉说着，大怒起来。“我要你让我离开这里，否则我要喊列车员了。我不会跟你去的。真可耻。”恐惧的啜泣又一次打断了她想说的话。
赫斯渥有些吃惊地听着这些。他觉得她完全有理由这么伤心，但他还是希望能尽快摆平这事。马上列车员就要过来查票了。他不想声张，不想有什么麻烦。首先他必须让她安静下来。
“火车不停，你是下不了车的，”赫斯渥说，“要不了多久，我们就到下一站了。那时你想下车就下去好了。我不会阻拦你的。我只想你能听我说一下。让我告诉你，好吗？”嘉莉似乎并没在听。她只是把头转向车窗，窗外一片漆黑。火车正平稳地向前飞奔，越过田野，穿过树丛。当火车驶近荒凉的林地中的道口时，便传来长长的汽笛声，充满忧伤的、音乐般的韵味。
这时列车员走进车厢，检查了一两个在芝加哥上车的旅客的车票。他走近赫斯渥时，赫斯渥把两张票递了过去。嘉莉虽然作好了采取行动的准备，但是她没有动弹。她甚至都没回头看看。
列车员走后，赫斯渥松了一口气。
“你生我的气，是因为我骗了你，”他说，“我不是有意的，嘉莉。我的的确确不是有意的。我是不得已才这样做的。第一次看见你以后，我就离不开你了。"他撇开不提最后的这次欺骗，似乎这事可以给忽略过去。他要使她相信，他太太已经不再是他们之间的障碍了。他偷的钱，他则试图忘个一干二净。
“不要对我说话，”嘉莉说。“我恨你。我要你给我走开。我一到下一站就下车。”当她说话时，由于激动和反抗，她浑身颤抖。
“好的，”他说，“可是你得先听我说完，好吗？毕竟你曾经说过爱我的话，你还是听我说吧。我不想做任何伤害你的事。
你走时，我会给你回去的路费。我只是想告诉你，嘉莉，不管你怎么想，你不能阻止我爱你。”他温柔地看着她，但是没有听到回答。
“你以为我卑鄙地欺骗了你，可是我并没有骗你。我不是有意这样做的。我和我的太太已经了断。她再也不能对我提出任何要求了。我再也不会去见他。这就是为什么今天晚上我会在这里。这就是为什么我会来带你走。”“你说查利受了伤，”嘉莉恶狠狠地说道。“你骗了我。你一直在欺骗我，现在你还要强迫我和你一起私奔。”她激动得站起身来，又要从他身边走过去。他让她过去了，她坐到另一个座位上。接着他也跟了过去。
“别离开我，嘉莉，”他温柔地说，“让我解释。只要你听我说完，就会明白我的立常我告诉你，我太太对我来说一文不值。很多年都是这样了，否则我也不会来找你。我要尽快离婚。
我再也不会去见她。我把这一切都结束了。你是我唯一想要的人。只要能得到你，我决不会再去想任何其他女人。"嘉莉怒气冲冲地听了这番话。不管他做过些什么，这番话听起来倒还很诚恳。赫斯渥的声音和态度都透着一种紧张，不能不产生一定的效果。她不想和他有任何来往。他有太太，已经骗过她一次，现在又来骗她。她觉得他很可怕。然而，他这种大胆和魅力对一个女人还真有些诱惑力，若是能使她觉得这一切都是因爱她而骗的，那就特别能让她着迷。
火车的行进大大地有助于化解这场僵局。向前飞奔的车轮和向后消失的乡村把芝加哥甩得越来越远。嘉莉能感觉到她正被带往很远的一个地方--机车差不多是在直奔某个遥远的城市。她有时觉得像是要喊出声来，大吵一场，这样有人会来帮她；有时又觉得这样做似乎毫无用处--不管她做什么，都不会有人来帮她。赫斯渥则一直在煞费苦心地求情，想使她受到感动而同情他。
“我实在是不得已而为之呀。”
嘉莉不屑一听。
“当我明白除非我和你结婚，否则你不愿和我来往时，我就决定抛开一切，带你和我一起走。我现在要去另一个城市。
我想先去蒙特利尔住一阵子，然后你想去哪里就去哪里。只要你说去纽约，我们就去纽约祝”“我不想和你有任何关系，”嘉莉说，“我要下车。现在我们去哪里？”“去底特律，”赫斯渥说。
“啊！”嘉莉说，心里一阵剧痛。目的地这么遥远，这么明确，看来事情更难办了。
“你和我一起去好吗？”他说，似乎生怕她不愿意。“你什么都不用做，只管随我旅行。我绝对不会打扰你。你可以看看蒙特利尔和纽约，以后如果你不想留下来，你可以回去。这总比你今夜就回去要好。”嘉莉第一次听到一个还算合理的建议。这个建议似乎还可行，尽管她十分害怕如果她真要照这个建议去做，会遭到他的反对。蒙特利尔和纽约！而此刻她正在向这些伟大而陌生的地方飞奔，只要她愿意，她就能看见它们了。她这么想着，却不动声色。
这时，赫斯渥觉得自己看见了一线希望，她可能会同意这个建议，便加倍地表现他的热忱。
“想想看，”他说，“我所放弃的一切。芝加哥我是再也回不去了。倘若你不和我一起去，我现在只得一个人流落他乡了。
你不会抛弃我的，是吧，嘉莉？”
“我不要听你说话，”她坚决地回答。
赫斯渥沉默了一会儿。
嘉莉觉得火车在减速。如果她真的要采取行动，现在是行动的时候了。她心神不安地动了起来。
“别想着走，嘉莉，”他说。“倘若你曾经喜欢过我，就和我一起去，让我们从现在开始吧。你怎么说，我就怎么做。我可以娶你，也可以让你回去。给你自己一点时间想一想。倘若我不爱你，我就不会叫你来。我告诉你，嘉莉，苍天作证，没有你我就活不下去。没有你我就不想活了。”这人的请求如此强烈，深深激起了嘉莉的同情。此刻驱使他的是吞噬一切的烈火。他爱她爱得太深，不能想象在这个时候，在他痛苦的时候放弃她。他紧张地抓住她的手，带着恳切的哀求，紧紧地握着。
这时火车差不多要停下来了。它正驶过旁边轨道上的几节车厢。车外一片黑暗和凄凉。车窗上开始有几滴水珠，表明下雨了。嘉莉正左右为难。想下决心，又觉得无助。火车已经停了下来，而她却还在听他哀求。机车向后倒了几英尺，随后一切都静止了。
她仍旧动摇不定，根本无法采取行动。时间在一分一分地过去，她还是犹豫不决，他则还在哀求着。
“倘若我想回去，你会让我回去吗？”她问，似乎现在是她占了上风，彻底征服了她的同伴。
“当然罗，”他答道，“你知道我会的。”
嘉莉只是听着，就像一个暂时宣布了大赦的人一样。她开始觉得仿佛这件事情完全在她的掌握之中。
火车又飞奔起来。赫斯渥换了一个话题。
“你很累了吧？”他说。
“不，”她答道。
“我给你在卧铺车厢要个铺位好吗？”
她摇了摇头，尽管她满脑子烦恼，他一肚子诡计，但她却开始注意到她过去一直感觉到的一点--他很会体贴人。
“还是要一个吧，”他说。“你会感觉舒服多了。”她摇了摇头。
“那就让我给你垫上我的大衣，”他站起身来，把他的轻便大衣舒服地垫在她的脑后。
“行了，”他温柔地说，“现在你试试能否休息一下。”见她顺从了，他很想吻她一下。他坐在她身边的座位上，沉思了一会儿。
“我看会有一场大雨，”他说。
“看来是这样，”嘉莉说。听着一阵阵风送来的雨点声，她的神经渐渐地安静了下来。火车正穿过黑暗，朝着一个更新的世界疾驶而去。
赫斯渥对自己能使嘉莉多少平静了一些感到满意，但这只是个很短暂的安慰。现在既然她不反对了，他就能用所有的时间来考虑他所犯的错误。
他的处境十分痛苦，因为他并不想要他偷来的那笔可耻的钱，他不想像个贼。那笔钱或其它任何东西，都永远无法补偿他如此愚蠢地抛下的过去的境况。它无法还给他的那些成群的朋友，他的名声，他的房子以及家庭，也无法还给他一个他臆想中要得到的嘉莉。他被驱逐出了芝加哥--驱逐出了他那轻松、安逸的环境。他亲手剥夺了自己的尊严、欢乐的聚会和怡人的夜晚。而这为了什么？他越想越觉得无法忍受。他开始考虑，他要努力恢复他原有的境况。他要把那笔昨夜偷来的可耻的钱还回去，解释清楚。也许莫埃会理解。也许他们会原谅他，让他回去。
中午时分，火车隆隆地开进底特律，他开始感到异常的紧张。现在警察一定在追捕他了。他们可能已经通知了各大城市的警察，会有侦探在监视他。他想起一些盗用公款的罪犯被捉拿归案的例子。因此，他呼吸沉重，脸色有点发白。两只手也不知所措，像是想干点什么事。他假装对车外的几处风景感兴趣，实际上他一点兴趣也没有。他反复用脚敲着地板。
嘉莉看出了他的焦虑不安，但没有说话。她完全不知道这意味着什么或者有什么重要性。
此时，他不明白自己为什么没有问一下这班车是否直达蒙特利尔或加拿大某地。也许他可以省点时间。他跳起来，去找列车员。
“这班车有开往蒙特利尔的车厢吗？”他问。
“有，后面一节卧汽车厢就是。”
他原想多问几句，但又觉得不大明智，便决定到车站上去问。
火车喷着气，隆隆地开进车常
“我想我们最好直接去蒙特利尔，”他对嘉莉说，“我去看看我们下车后该怎么转车。”他非常紧张，但他极力装出镇静的样子。嘉莉只是不安地张大眼睛看着他。她心里很乱，不知如何是好。
火车停了，赫斯渥领着她出来。他小心地看了一下四周，假装是在照顾嘉莉。确定没人在监视他，他便向票房走去。
“下一班去蒙特利尔的火车什么时候开？”他问。
“２０分钟以后，”售票员说。
他买了两张车票加头等卧铺票。然后，他匆忙回到嘉莉身边。
“我们马上又上车，”他说，几乎没注意到嘉莉看上去又累又乏。
“但愿我没卷进来，”她抱怨地叫道。
“到了蒙特利尔你就会感觉好些的，”他说。
“我什么东西都没带，”嘉莉说，“连一块手帕都没有。”“一到那里，你就可以去买你所需要的一切，最亲爱的，”他解释道。“你可以请个裁缝来。”这时，站台上的人高声喊着火车要开了，于是他们上了车。火车开动了，赫斯渥松了一口气，不久火车就开到了河边，他们在那里渡过了河。火车刚开下渡轮，他就放心地吸了口气，安坐下来。
“再过不久就要到了，”他说道。放下心来，他又想起了嘉莉。“我们明天一大早就到了。”嘉莉不屑回答。
“我去看看有没有餐车，”他又说，“我饿了。”
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Chapter 29 THE SOLACE OF TRAVEL: THE BOATS OF THE SEA
To the untravelled, territory other than their own familiar heath is invariably fascinating. Next to love, it is the one thing which solaces and delights. Things new are too important to be neglected, and mind, which is a mere reflection of sensory impressions, succumbs to the flood of objects. Thus lovers are forgotten, sorrows laid aside, death hidden from view. There is a world of accumulated feeling back of the trite dramatic expression -- "I am going away."
As Carrie looked out upon the flying scenery she almost forgot that she had been tricked into this long journey against her will and that she was without the necessary apparel for travelling. She quite forgot Hurstwood's presence at times, and looked away to homely farmhouses and cosey cottages in villages with wondering eyes. It was an interesting world to her. Her life had just begun. She did not feel herself defeated at all. Neither was she blasted in hope. The great city held much. Possibly she would come out of bondage into freedom -- who knows? Perhaps she would be happy. These thoughts raised her above the level of erring. She was saved in that she was hopeful.
The following morning the train pulled safely into Montreal and they stepped down, Hurstwood glad to be out of danger, Carrie wondering at the novel atmosphere of the northern city. Long before, Hurstwood had been here, and now he remembered the name of the hotel at which he had stopped. As they came out of the main entrance of the depot he heard it called anew by a busman.
"We'll go right up and get rooms," he said.
At the clerk's office Hurstwood swung the register about while the clerk came forward. He was thinking what name he would put down. With the latter before him he found no time for hesitation. A name he had seen out of the car window came swiftly to him. It was pleasing enough. With an easy hand he wrote, "G. W. Murdock and wife." It was the largest concession to necessity he felt like making. His initials he could not spare.
When they were shown their room Carrie saw at once that he had secured her a lovely chamber.
"You have a bath there," said he. "Now you can clean up when you are ready."
Carrie went over and looked out the window, while Hurstwood looked at himself in the glass. He felt dusty and unclean. He had no trunk, no change of linen, not even a hair-brush.
"I'll ring for soap and towels," he said, "and send you up a hair-brush. Then you can bathe and get ready for breakfast. I'll go for a shave and come back and get you, and then we'll go out and look for some clothes for you."
He smiled good-naturedly as he said this.
"All right," said Carrie.
She sat down in one of the rocking-chairs, while Hurstwood waited for the boy, who soon knocked.
"Soap, towels, and a pitcher of ice-water."
"Yes, sir."
"I'll go now," he said to Carrie, coming toward her and holding out his hands, but she did not move to take them.
"You're not mad at me, are you?" he asked softly.
"Oh, no!" she answered, rather indifferently.
"Don't you care for me at all?"
She made no answer, but looked steadily toward the window.
"Don't you think you could love me a little?" he pleaded, taking one of her hands, which she endeavoured to draw away. "You once said you did."
"What made you deceive me so?" asked Carrie.
"I couldn't help it," he said, "I wanted you too much."
"You didn't have any right to want me," she answered, striking cleanly home.
"Oh, well, Carrie," he answered, "here I am. It's too late now. Won't you try and care for me a little?"
He looked rather worsted in thought as he stood before her.
She shook her head negatively.
"Let me start all over again. Be my wife from today on."
Carrie rose up as if to step away, he holding her hand. Now he slipped his arm about her and she struggled, but in vain. He held her quite close. Instantly there flamed up in his body the all-compelling desire. His affection took an ardent form.
"Let me go," said Carrie, who was folded close to him.
"Won't you love me?" he said. "Won't you be mine from now on?"
Carrie had never been ill-disposed toward him. Only a moment before she had been listening with some complacency, remembering her old affection for him. He was so handsome, so daring!
Now, however, this feeling had changed to one of opposition, which rose feebly. It mastered her for a moment, and then, held close as she was, began to wane. Something else in her spoke. This man, to whose bosom she was being pressed, was strong; he was passionate, he loved her, and she was alone. If she did not turn to him -- accept of his love -- where else might she go? Her resistance half dissolved in the flood of his strong feeling.
She found him lifting her head and looking into her eyes. What magnetism there was she could never know. His many sins, however, were for the moment all forgotten.
He pressed her closer and kissed her, and she felt that further opposition was useless.
"Will you marry me?" she asked, forgetting how.
"This very day," he said, with all delight.
Now the hall-boy pounded on the door and he released his hold upon her regretfully.
"You get ready now, will you," he said, "at once?"
"Yes," she answered.
"I'll be back in three-quarters of an hour."
Carrie, flushed and excited, moved away as he admitted the boy.
Below stairs, he halted in the lobby to look for a barber shop. For the moment, he was in fine feather. His recent victory over Carrie seemed to atone for much he had endured during the last few days. Life seemed worth fighting for. This eastward flight from all things customary and attached seemed as if it might have happiness in store. The storm showed a rainbow at the end of which might be a pot of gold.
He was about to cross to a little red-and-white striped bar which was fastened up beside a door when a voice greeted him familiarly. Instantly his heart sank.
"Why, hello, George, old man!" said the voice. "What are you doing down here?"
Hurstwood was already confronted, and recognised his friend Kenny, the stock-broker.
"Just attending to a little private matter," he answered, his mind working like a key-board of a telephone station. This man evidently did not know -- he had not read the papers.
"Well, it seems strange to see you way up here," said Mr. Kenny genially. "Stopping here?"
"Yes," said Hurstwood uneasily, thinking of his handwriting on the register.
"Going to be in town long?"
"No, only a day or so."
"Is that so? Had your breakfast?"
"Yes," said Hurstwood, lying blandly. "I'm just going for a shave."
"Won't you come have a drink?"
"Not until afterwards," said the ex-manager. "I'll see you later. Are you stopping here?"
"Yes," said Mr. Kenny, and then, turning the word again, added: "How are things out in Chicago?"
"About the same as usual," said Hurstwood, smiling genially.
"Wife with you?"
"No."
"Well, I must see more of you to-day. I'm just going in here for breakfast. Come in when you're through."
"I will," said Hurstwood, moving away. The whole conversation was a trial to him. It seemed to add complications with every word. This man called up a thousand memories. He represented everything he had left. Chicago, his wife, the elegant resort -- all these were in his greeting and inquiries. And here he was in this same hotel expecting to confer with him, unquestionably waiting to have a good time with him. All at once the Chicago papers would arrive. The local papers would have accounts in them this very day. He forgot his triumph with Carrie in the possibility of soon being known for what he was, in this man's eyes, a safe-breaker. He could have groaned as he went into the barber shop. He decided to escape and seek a more secluded hotel.
Accordingly, when he came out he was glad to see the lobby clear, and hastened toward the stairs. He would get Carrie and go out by the ladies' entrance. They would have breakfast in some more inconspicuous place.
Across the lobby, however, another individual was surveying him. He was of a commonplace Irish type, small of stature, cheaply dressed, and with a head that seemed a smaller edition of some huge ward politician's. This individual had been evidently talking with the clerk, but now he surveyed the ex-manager keenly.
Hurstwood felt the long-range examination and recognised the type. Instinctively he felt that the man was a detective -- that he was being watched. He hurried across, pretending not to notice, but in his mind was a world of thoughts. What would happen now? What could these people do? He began to trouble concerning the extradition laws. He did not understand them absolutely. Perhaps he could be arrested. Oh, if Carrie should find out! Montreal was too warm for him. He began to long to be out of it.
Carrie had bathed and was waiting when he arrived. She looked refreshed -- more delightful than ever, but reserved. Since he had gone she had resumed somewhat of her cold attitude towards him. Love was not blazing in her heart. He felt it, and his troubles seemed increased. He could not take her in his arms; he did not even try. Something about her forbade it. In part his opinion was the result of his own experiences and reflections below stairs.
"You're ready, are you?" he said kindly.
"Yes," she answered.
"We'll go out for breakfast. This place down here doesn't appeal to me very much."
"All right," said Carrie.
They went out, and at the corner the commonplace Irish individual was standing, eyeing him. Hurstwood could scarcely refrain from showing that he knew of this chap's presence. The insolence in the fellow's eye was galling. Still they passed, and he explained to Carrie concerning the city. Another restaurant was not long in showing itself, and here they entered.
"What a queer town this is," said Carrie, who marvelled at it solely because it was not like Chicago.
"It isn't as lively as Chicago," said Hurstwood. "Don't you like it?"
"No," said Carrie, whose feelings were already localised in the great Western city.
"Well, it isn't as interesting," said Hurstwood.
"What's here?" asked Carrie, wondering at his choosing to visit this town.
"Nothing much," returned Hurstwood. "It's quite a resort. There's some pretty scenery about here."
Carrie listened, but with a feeling of unrest. There was much about her situation which destroyed the possibility of appreciation.
"We won't stay here long," said Hurstwood, who was now really glad to note her dissatisfaction. "You pick out your clothes as soon as breakfast is over and we'll run down to New York soon. You'll like that. It's a lot more like a city than any place outside Chicago."
He was really planning to slip out and away. He would see what these detectives would do -- what move his employers at Chicago would make -- then he would slip away -- down to New York, where it was easy to hide. He knew enough about that city to know that its mysteries and possibilities of mystification were infinite.
The more he thought, however, the more wretched his situation became. He saw that getting here did not exactly clear up the ground. The firm would probably employ detectives to watch him -- Pinkerton men or agents of Mooney and Boland. They might arrest him the moment he tried to leave Canada. So he might be compelled to remain here months, and in what a state!
Back at the hotel Hurstwood was anxious and yet fearful to see the morning papers. He wanted to know how far the news of his criminal deed had spread. So he told Carrie he would be up in a few moments, and went to secure and scan the dailies. No familiar or suspicious faces were about, and yet he did not like reading in the lobby, so he sought the main parlour on the floor above and, seated by a window there, looked them over. Very little was given to his crime, but it was there, several "sticks" in all, among all the riffraff of telegraphed murders, accidents, marriages, and other news. He wished, half sadly, that he could undo it all. Every moment of his time in this far-off abode of safety but added to his feeling that he had made a great mistake. There could have been an easier way out if he had only known.
He left the papers before going to the room, thinking thus to keep them out of the hands of Carrie.
"Well, how are you feeling?" he asked of her. She was engaged in looking out of the window.
"Oh, all right," she answered.
He came over, and was about to begin a conversation with her, when a knock came at their door.
"Maybe it's one of my parcels," said Carrie.
Hurstwood opened the door, outside of which stood the individual whom he had so thoroughly suspected.
"You're Mr. Hurstwood, are you?" said the latter, with a volume of affected shrewdness and assurance.
"Yes," said Hurstwood calmly. He knew the type so thoroughly that some of his old familiar indifference to it returned. Such men as these were of the lowest stratum welcomed at the resort. He stepped out and closed the door.
"Well, you know what I am here for, don't you?" said the man confidentially.
"I can guess," said Hurstwood softly.
"Well, do you intend to try and keep the money?"
"That's my affair," said Hurstwood grimly.
"You can't do it, you know," said the detective, eyeing him coolly.
"Look here, my man," said Hurstwood authoritatively, "you don't understand anything about this case, and I can't explain to you. Whatever I intend to do I'll do without advice from the outside. You'll have to excuse me."
"Well, now, there's no use of your talking that way," said the man, "when you're in the hands of the police. We can make a lot of trouble for you if we want to. You're not registered right in this house, you haven't got your wife with you, and the newspapers don't know you're here yet. You might as well be reasonable."
"What do you want to know?" asked Hurstwood.
"Whether you're going to send back that money or not."
Hurstwood paused and studied the floor.
"There's no use explaining to you about this," he said at last. "There's no use of your asking me. I'm no fool, you know. I know just what you can do and what you can't. You can create a lot of trouble if you want to. I know that all right, but it won't help you to get the money. Now, I've made up my mind what to do. I've already written Fitzgerald and Moy, so there's nothing I can say. You wait until you hear more from them."
All the time he had been talking he had been moving away from the door, down the corridor, out of the hearing of Carrie. They were now near the end where the corridor opened into the large general parlour.
"You won't give it up?" said the man.
The words irritated Hurstwood greatly. Hot blood poured into his brain. Many thoughts formulated themselves. He was no thief. He didn't want the money. If he could only explain to Fitzgerald and Moy, maybe it would be all right again.
"See here," he said, "there's no use my talking about this at all. I respect your power all right, but I'll have to deal with the people who know."
"Well, you can't get out of Canada with it," said the man.
"I don't want to get out," said Hurstwood. "When I get ready there'll be nothing to stop me for."
He turned back, and the detective watched him closely. It seemed an intolerable thing. Still he went on and into the room.
"Who was it?" asked Carrie.
"A friend of mine from Chicago."
The whole of this conversation was such a shock that, coming as it did after all the other worry of the past week, it sufficed to induce a deep gloom and moral revulsion in Hurstwood. What hurt him most was the fact that he was being pursued as a thief. He began to see the nature of that social injustice which sees but one side -- often but a single point in a long tragedy. All the newspapers noted but one thing, his taking the money. How and wherefore were but indifferently dealt with. All the complications which led up to it were unknown. He was accused without being understood.
Sitting in his room with Carrie the same day, he decided to send the money back. He would write Fitzgerald and Moy, explain all, and then send it by express. Maybe they would forgive him. Perhaps they would ask him back. He would make good the false statement he had made about writing them. Then he would leave this peculiar town.
For an hour he thought over this plausible statement of the tangle. He wanted to tell them about his wife, but couldn't. He finally narrowed it down to an assertion that he was light-headed from entertaining friends, had found the safe open, and having gone so far as to take the money out, had accidentally closed it. This act he regretted very much. He was sorry he had put them to so much trouble. He would undo what he could by sending the money back -- the major portion of it. The remainder he would pay up as soon as he could. Was there any possibility of his being restored? This he only hinted at.
The troubled state of the man's mind may be judged by the very construction of this letter. For the nonce he forgot what a painful thing it would be to resume his old place, even if it were given him. He forgot that he had severed himself from the past as by a sword, and that if he did manage to in some way reunite himself with it, the jagged line of separation and reunion would always show. He was always forgetting something -- his wife, Carrie, his need of money, present situation, or something -- and so did not reason clearly. Nevertheless, he sent the letter, waiting a reply before sending the money.
Meanwhile, he accepted his present situation with Carrie, getting what joy out of it he could.
Out came the sun by noon, and poured a golden flood through their open windows. Sparrows were twittering. There were laughter and song in the air. Hurstwood could not keep his eyes from Carrie. She seemed the one ray of sunshine in all his trouble. Oh, if she would only love him wholly -- only throw her arms around him in the blissful spirit in which he had seen her in the little park in Chicago -- how happy he would be! It would repay him; it would show him that he had not lost all. He would not care.
"Carrie," he said, getting up once and coming over to her, "are you going to stay with me from now on?"
She looked at him quizzically, but melted with sympathy as the value of the look upon his face forced itself upon her. It was love now, keen and strong -- love enhanced by difficulty and worry. She could not help smiling.
"Let me be everything to you from now on," he said. "Don't make me worry any more. I'll be true to you. We'll go to New York and get a nice flat. I'll go into business again, and we'll be happy. Won't you be mine?"
Carrie listened quite solemnly. There was no great passion in her, but the drift of things and this man's proximity created a semblance of affection. She felt rather sorry for him -- a sorrow born of what had only recently been a great admiration. True love she had never felt for him. She would have known as much if she could have analysed her feelings, but this thing which she now felt aroused by his great feeling broke down the barriers between them.
"You'll stay with me, won't you?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, nodding her head.
He gathered her to himself, imprinting kisses upon her lips and cheeks.
"You must marry me, though," she said.
"I'll get a license to-day." he answered.
"How?" she asked.
"Under a new name," he answered. "I'll take a new name and live a new life. From now on I'm Murdock."
"Oh, don't take that name," said Carrie.
"Why not?" he said.
"I don't like it."
"Well, what shall I take?" he asked.
"Oh, anything, only don't take that."
He thought a while, still keeping his arms about her, and then said:
"How would Wheeler do?"
"That's all right," said Carrie.
"Well, then, Wheeler," he said. "I'll get the license this afternoon."
They were married by a Baptist minister, the first divine they found convenient.
At last the Chicago firm answered. It was by Mr. Moy's dictation. He was astonished that Hurstwood had done this; very sorry that it had come about as it had. If the money were returned, they would not trouble to prosecute him, as they really bore him no ill-will. As for his returning, or their restoring him to his former position, they had not quite decided what the effect of it would be. They would think it over and correspond with him later, possibly, after a little time, and so on.
The sum and substance of it was that there was no hope, and they wanted the money with the least trouble possible. Hurstwood read his doom. He decided to pay $9,500 to the agent whom they said they would send, keeping $1,300 for his own use. He telegraphed his acquiescence, explained to the representative who called at the hotel the same day, took a certificate of payment, and told Carrie to pack her trunk. He was slightly depressed over this newest move at the time he began to make it, but eventually restored himself. He feared that even yet he might be seized and taken back, so he tried to conceal his movements, but it was scarcely possible. He ordered Carrie's trunk sent to the depot, where he had it sent by express to New York. No one seemed to be observing him, but he left at night. He was greatly agitated lest at the first station across the border or at the depot in New York there should be waiting for him an officer of the law.
Carrie, ignorant of his theft and his fears, enjoyed the entry into the latter city in the morning. The round green hills sentinelling the broad, expansive bosom of the Hudson held her attention by their beauty as the train followed the line of the stream. She had heard of the Hudson River, the great city of New York, and now she looked out, filling her mind with the wonder of it.
As the train turned east at Spuyten Duyvil and followed the east bank of the Harlem River, Hurstwood nervously called her attention to the fact that they were on the edge of the city. After her experience with Chicago, she expected long lines of cars -- a great highway of tracks -- and noted the difference. The sight of a few boats in the Harlem and more in the East River tickled her young heart. It was the first sign of the great sea. Next came a plain street with five-story brick flats, and then the train plunged into the tunnel.
"Grand Central Station!" called the trainman, as, after a few minutes of darkness and smoke, daylight reappeared. Hurstwood arose and gathered up his small grip. He was screwed up to the highest tension. With Carrie he waited at the door and then dismounted. No one approached him, but he glanced furtively to and fro as he made for the street entrance. So excited was he that he forgot all about Carrie, who fell behind, wondering at his self-absorption. As he passed through the depot proper the strain reached its climax and began to wane. All at once he was on the sidewalk, and none but cabmen hailed him. He heaved a great breath and turned, remembering Carrie.
"I thought you were going to run off and leave me," she said.
"I was trying remember which car takes us to the Gilsey," he answered.
Carrie hardly heard him, so interested was she in the busy scene.
"How large is New York?" she asked.
"Oh, a million or more," said Hurstwood.
He looked around and hailed a cab, but he did so in a changed way.
For the first time in years the thought that he must count these little expenses flashed through his mind. It was a disagreeable thing.
He decided he would lose no time living in hotels but would rent a flat. Accordingly he told Carrie, and she agreed.
"We'll look to-day, if you want to," she said.
Suddenly he thought of his experience in Montreal. At the more important hotels he would be certain to meet Chicagoans whom he knew. He stood up and spoke to the driver.
"Take me to the Belford," he said, knowing it to be less frequented by those whom he knew. Then he sat down.
"Where is the residence part?" asked Carrie, who did not take the tall five-story walls on either hand to be the abodes of families.
"Everywhere," said Hurstwood, who knew the city fairly well. "There are no lawns in New York. All these are houses."
"Well, then, I don't like it," said Carrie, who was coming to have a few opinions of her own.
没有旅行过的人，对家乡以外的陌生地方总是很着迷。除了爱情，也就数这事能给人安慰，令人愉快了。所遇到的新鲜事物都十分重要，不容忽视。而人的头脑只是各种感官印象的反映，会被这些潮水般涌来的事物所征服。于是恋人被忘却，忧愁被撇开，死亡也看不见了。那句富有戏剧性的老话"我要走了"的背后，蕴藏着无限的情感。 当嘉莉望着窗外飞逝而过的景色对，她几乎忘了自己是被起来作这次违心的长途旅行的，也忘了她没带旅行的必需用品。她有时连赫斯渥的存在都忘了，只顾用惊奇的目光看着远处那些乡村中简朴的农舍和舒适的小屋。对她来说，这个世界很有趣。她的生活才刚刚开始。她一点也不觉得自己被打败了。她也不认为希望已经破灭。大城市有的是机会。很有可能，她会摆脱束缚，获得自由--谁知道呢？也许她会幸福。
想到这些，她便不再考虑自己是否做错了。她很乐观，因此不至于无法自拔。
第二天早晨，火车平安抵达蒙特利尔，他们下了车。赫斯渥很高兴已脱离了危险，嘉莉则惊叹着这北方城市的新奇气氛。很久以前，赫斯渥曾来过这里，这时他想起了他当时住过的旅馆的名字。当他们从车站正门出来时，他听到一个公共马车的车夫正在反复地叫着那个旅馆的名字。
“我们这就去那里开个房间，”他说。
在帐房间里，赫斯渥把登记簿转过来时，帐房走上前来。
他正考虑用什么名字来登记。面对着帐房，他没有时间再犹豫了。他忽然想起在车窗外瞧见的那个名字。是个很讨人喜欢的名字。他大笔一挥，写下了“乔·威·默多克夫妇”。这是他在万不得已的情况下所能作出的最大让步了。对自己名字的缩写，他是不能省去的。
他们被领到自己的房间后，嘉莉一眼就看出他给她找了一间可爱的卧室。
“那边还有一间浴室，”他说，“等你准备好了，就可以去梳洗一下。”嘉莉走过去看着窗外。赫斯渥在镜子里照了照，觉得自己又脏又乱。他没带箱子，没带换洗衣物，连把梳子都没有。
“我按铃叫他们送肥皂和毛巾来，”他说，“还给你送把梳子。然后你就去洗澡，准备吃早饭。我先去修个面，再回来接你，然后我们出去给你买些衣服。”他边说边和蔼地笑着。
“好的，”嘉莉说。她在一把摇椅上坐下来，赫斯渥在等茶房，很快茶房就敲门了。
“给我们拿肥皂、毛巾和一壶冰水来。”
“是，先生。”
“我现在要走了，”他对嘉莉说，向她走过来并伸出了双手，但她却不伸手去接。
“你没有生我的气，是吧？”他温柔地问。
“哦，没有！”她答道，口气相当冷淡。
“难道你一点都不爱我吗？”
她没有回答，只是盯着窗口。
“难道你就不能有一点点爱我吗？”他恳求着，握住她的一只手，而她却使劲想甩开。“你曾经说过你爱我的。”“你为什么要这样欺骗我？”嘉莉问。
“我也是没有办法呀，”他说，“我太想要你了。”“你没有任何权力要我，”她答道，一下就打中了要害。
“哦，可是，嘉莉，”他说，“事已至此，现在已经太晚了。你能否试着爱我一点呢？”他站在她面前，看上去完全没了头绪。
她否定地摇了摇头。
“让我一切从头开始吧。从今天起你就做我的妻子。”嘉莉站了起来，像是要走开，而他还握着她的手。这时他悄悄地用胳膊搂住了她，她挣扎着，但是没有挣脱。他把她搂得很紧。立刻他的体内燃起了一股无法抗拒的欲火。他的感情也变得十分强烈。
“放开我，”嘉莉说，她被他紧紧地搂着。
“你爱我，好吗？”他说。“你从现在起就成为我的人，好吗？”嘉莉从来没有对他有过恶感。就在一分钟之前，她还在悠然自得地听他说话，未忘旧情。他真漂亮，真大胆！
可是现在，这种感情变成了反抗情绪，一种软弱无力的反抗。一时间，这种反抗情绪在她心里占了上风。可是过不了一会儿，因为被他搂得很紧，她就开始变软了。在她的内心深处响起了另外一个声音。这个人，这个正把她紧紧地搂在怀里的人，是个强壮的男人。他热情，他爱她，而她又是孤单一人。若是她不投奔他--接受他的爱情--她又能去别的什么地方呢？面对他那潮水般涌来的强烈感情，她的抵抗有些瓦解了。
她发现他抬起了她的头，目光直盯着她的眼睛。她永远都搞不懂，他怎么会有这么大的吸引力。于是此刻，他的诸多罪过都被忘却了。
他把她搂得更紧并吻了她，她觉得再反抗已经毫无意义。
“你愿意和我结婚吗？”她问，却忘了问怎么结法。
“今天就结婚，”他说，高兴极了。
这时旅馆的茶房把门敲得砰砰响，他遗憾地放开了她。
“你现在就准备，好吗？”他说，“马上。”“好的，”她回答。
“我３刻钟后就回来。”
他让茶房进来时，嘉莉红着脸兴奋地走到一边。
下楼之后，他在门厅里停下来找理发间。此刻，他情绪高昂。他刚刚赢得了嘉莉，这似乎补偿了过去的几天里他所遭受的折磨。看来人生是值得为之奋斗的。这一次抛下所有牵肠挂肚的日常琐事，向东逃亡，看来好像还有幸福在等待着。风暴过后会出现彩虹，彩虹的尽头可能是一坛金子。
他看见一个房间的门旁边装着一个红白条纹相间的小圆柱。正准备走到那里去时，听见一个声音亲热地和他打招呼。
他的心立刻往下一沉。
“喂，你好，乔治，老朋友！”这声音说。“你到这里来干什么？”赫斯渥已经和他面对面了，认出是他的朋友肯尼，一个股票经纪人。
“来办件私人小事，”他回答，脑子里就像电话局的接线盘一样忙个不停。这个人显然还不知道--他没看到报纸。
“咳，真没想到会在这么远的地方见到你，”肯尼先生亲切地说。“住在这里吗？”“是的，”赫斯渥不安地说，脑子里想着登记簿上自己的笔迹。
“要在这里待长吗？”
“不，只待一天左右。”
“真的吗？早点吃过没有？”
“吃过了，”赫斯渥说，信口撒了谎。“我正要去修面。”“你过来喝一杯好吗？”“以后再喝吧，”这位过去的经理说道。“我过一会儿来看你，你是住在这里吗？”“是的，”肯尼先生说。然后又把话题转回来，补充说：“芝加哥那边的情况怎么样？”“和往常差不多，”赫斯渥说，亲切地笑了笑。
“太太和你一起来了吗？”
“没有。”
“嘿，今天我非得再和你聊聊不可。我刚到这里来吃早点。
你有空就过来。”
“我会来的，”赫斯渥说着走开了。整个谈话对他来说是一场痛苦的考验。似乎每讲一个字就增加了一分复杂。这个人勾起了他无数的回忆。这个人代表着他所抛弃的一切。芝加哥，他的太太--这一切全在这个人的寒暄与询问之中。而现在这个人就住在这同一家旅馆里，盼着和他交谈，毫无疑问等着和他一起好好地玩一下。芝加哥的报纸随时都会到这里。当地的报纸今天就会有报道。想到这个人可能很快就会知道他的真面目，一个偷保险柜的贼，他忘记了赢得嘉莉的胜利。他走进理发间时，差不多都要哼出声来了。他决定逃走，找一家平静些的旅馆。
因此，当他出来时看见门厅里空无一人，心里很高兴，赶忙奔向楼梯。他要带上嘉莉，从妇女出入口出去。他们要去一个不大显眼的地方吃早点。
可是，在门厅的那一头，另一个人正在打量着他。那是个普通的爱尔兰人，身材矮小，衣着寒酸，却长着个特别的脑袋，看上去像是某个大选区政客的脑袋的缩本。这个人刚才明明一直在和帐房谈话。可是现在他却在敏锐地打量着这位过去的经理。
赫斯渥感觉到远处有人在观察他，看出了那人的身份。他本能地觉得那人是个侦探--他被监视了。他匆忙穿过门厅，假装没有察觉，可是心里却是千头万绪。现在会发生什么事呢？这些人会干什么呢？他开始费尽心思地去想关于引渡法的问题。他并不完全懂得这些法律。也许他会被捕。哎呀，要是嘉莉发觉就糟了！蒙特利尔他是待不下去了。他开始渴望离开这个地方。
当他回到房间时，嘉莉已经洗过澡，正在等他。她看起来容光焕发，比以往更加可爱，但是很矜持。在他走后，她又有点恢复了对他的冷淡态度。她的心里并没有爱情在燃烧。他感觉到了这一点，他的烦恼似乎也随之增加了。他没能把她搂在怀里，他连试都没试。她的神情不许他这样做，他自己在楼下的经历和沉思是他形成这一看法的部份原因。
“你准备好了。是吗？”他和蔼地说。
“是的，”她回答。
“我们出去吃早点。这下面的地方我不太喜欢。”“好的，”嘉莉说。
他们走了出来，那个普通的爱尔兰人正站在拐角处，盯着他看。赫斯渥差一点忍不住要露出他知道这家伙的存在的表情来。这家伙的傲慢目光令人恼怒。但他们还是走了过去。他对嘉莉谈了一些这个城市的情况。不久又看见一家餐馆，这一次他们走了进去。
“这个城市真古怪，”嘉莉说，她对这个城市感到惊奇，仅仅因为它不像芝加哥。
“这里不及芝加哥热闹，”赫斯渥说，“你喜欢这里吗？”“不喜欢，”嘉莉答道，她的喜好厌恶早已受到那个伟大的美国西部城市的局限了。
“哎，也不如芝加哥有意思，”赫斯渥说。
“这里有些什么呢？”嘉莉问道，不明白他为什么挑选这个城市来旅游。
“没有什么特别的，”赫斯渥回答。“这是个旅游胜地。这一带有一些美丽的风景。”嘉莉听着，但心里感到不安。她很为自己的处境担忧，哪里有心情欣赏什么风景。
“我们不在这里久待，”赫斯渥说，他现在看到她不满意，还真感到高兴。“一吃完早点，你就去挑好衣服。我们马上去纽约。你会喜欢那里的。除了芝加哥以外，它可是比其它任何地方都要更像一个城市。”实际上，他是在打算溜之大吉。他要看看这些侦探会干些什么--他在芝加哥的东家们会采取什么行动--然后他就溜走--去纽约，那是个容易藏身的地方。他很熟悉那个城市，知道那个城市充满神秘，可以任由你神出鬼没。
可是，他越想越觉得自己的处境不妙。他发现来到这里，还是没有真正地解决问题。酒店很可能会雇用侦探来监视他--平克顿的手下或者穆尼和博兰侦探所的侦探。一旦他企图逃离加拿大，他们可能就会逮捕他。这样他也许就不得不在这里住上几个月，而且是处于如此狼狈的境况。
回到旅馆，赫斯渥急着想看早晨的报纸，可又害怕看。他想知道有关他的罪行的消息已经传了多远。于是，他告诉嘉莉他过一会儿再上来，就去找报纸看了。四周都没看见熟悉的或可疑的面孔，可他还是不想在门厅里看报，就找到楼上的大休息室，进去坐在窗边，把报纸浏览了一遍。关于他的罪行的报道极少，但还是有，一共就那么寥寥几行，夹在那些乱七八糟的关于各地谋杀、车祸、结婚以及其它消息的电讯报道之中。
他有些悲哀，真希望自己能抹掉这一切。在这个遥远的安全住所里，每过一分钟都会使他更加感到自己已铸成大错。应该会有更加容易的出路，当初他要是知道就好了。
他回房间之前，把报纸留在了那里，以为这样报纸就不会落到嘉莉的手中。
“喂，你感觉怎么样啦？”他问她。她正在看着窗外。
“哦，很好，”她回答。
他走了过去，刚要开口和她说话，传来了敲门声。
“可能是我买的东西到了，”嘉莉说。
赫斯渥开了门，门外站着他十分怀疑的那个人。
“你是赫斯渥先生，对吗？”那人说，做出一副非常精明、肯定的模样。
“是的，”赫斯渥镇定地说。他太了解这种人了，这种人是酒店所接待的最低阶层的人，因此又有些恢复了他往日对这种人的满不在乎的态度。他跨到门外，把门关上了。
“这么说，你知道我为什么到这里来，是吗？”这人用信任的口气说。
“我能猜到，”赫斯渥小声地说。
“那么，你还想留着那笔钱吗？”
“那是我自己的事，”赫斯渥冷淡地说。
“你不能那么做，这你是知道的，”侦探说，冷眼打量着他。
“听着，朋友，”赫斯渥盛气凌人地说，“你一点也不了解这件案子，我也无法向你解释。我想做什么就做什么，不需要别人指手划脚。还请你原谅。”“哦，好哇，等你落到警察手里，”这人说，“你这么说话就不管用了。只要我们愿意，我们就可以给你找很多麻烦。你在这家旅馆登记没有用真实姓名，你没有带太太一起来，报馆的人还不知道你在这里。你最好还是通情达理一点。”“你想知道些什么？”赫斯渥问。
“我想知道你是否打算把那笔钱寄回去。”赫斯渥停顿了一下，打量着地板。
“我向你解释这事是没有用的，”他最后说。“你盘问我也没有用。我不是个傻瓜，这你心里明白。我知道你能做什么，不能做什么。只要你愿意，你可以制造很多麻烦。这点我很清楚，但是这并不能帮你拿到那笔钱。现在我已经决定好怎么做了。我已经给费茨杰拉德和莫埃写了信，所以在此我没什么可说的了。你等着听他们的回音吧。”他一边说话，一边从门口走开，沿着走廊走去，以免让嘉莉听见。现在他们已经快走到走廊的尽头了，尽头是一间大休息室。
“你不肯放弃那笔钱吧？”这人说。他的这句话使得赫斯渥大为恼火。热血直冲脑门，千头万绪涌上心头。他不是贼。他并不想要那笔钱。只要他能向费茨杰拉德和莫埃解释清楚，也许就会没事了。
“听着，”他说，“我现在谈这些根本就没有用。我很尊重你的权力，但是我得和了解内情的人打交道。”“好吧，但你不能带着钱离开加拿大，”这人说。
“我没想要离开，”赫斯渥说，“等我准备好离开时，就不会有什么阻拦我的事了。”他转身回去，侦探牢牢地盯着他。这简直是件无法忍受的事。可他还是继续朝前走，走进了自己的房间。
“那人是谁？”嘉莉问道。
“芝加哥来的一个朋友。”
整个谈话使得赫斯渥大为震惊。刚刚经历了上个星斯的种种焦虑，又碰上这么一番谈话。震惊之余，他心里不由得产生了一种深深的忧虑和对道德的反感。最令他伤心的是他竟会被人当作贼来追捕。他开始看清了社会不公正的本质，这种不公正表现在只看到问题的一面--往往只看到一幕漫长的悲剧中的某一时刻。所有的报纸都只提到了一件事，这就是他偷了钱。至于怎么偷的和为什么要偷，却无人过问。造成这一后果的所有的复杂原因，也无人知晓。他在没被理解之前就给定了罪名。
同一天里，当他和嘉莉一起坐在房间里时，他决定寄回那笔钱。他要给费茨杰拉德和莫埃写信，把一切解释清楚。然后用快汇把钱寄回去。他们可能会原谅他。他们也许会请他回去。他要把他说的已写信给他们的谎话变为事实。然后他就会离开这个古怪的城市。
为了能言之有理地说明这件复杂的事情，他足足想了有一个钟头。他本想告诉他们有关他太太的事，但是难以启齿。
最后，他大事花小，只是简单地说明，他招待朋友时喝晕了头，发现保险柜是开着的，竟然把钱拿了出来，一不小心将保险柜锁上了。这件事令他后悔莫及。他给他们添了那么多麻烦，真是对不起他们。他要尽力挽回这件事，把钱寄回去--把其中的大部分寄回去。剩下的部份他会尽快还清。是否有可能让他恢复原职？这一点他只是暗示了一下。
从这封信的构思本身，就可看出这人是怎样的心烦意乱。
他当时忘记了，即使让他恢复了原职，那也将是一件多么痛苦的事情。他忘记了他使自己和过去已经像是一刀两断，即使他能设法多少让自己和过去破镜重圆，也难免总要露出分离和重合的裂痕来。他总是会忘记些什么--他的太太，嘉莉，他需要钱用，眼前的处境，或其它什么--因此考虑问题不清楚。不过，他还是寄走了这封信，想等收到回信再汇钱去。
在此期间，他和嘉莉则安于现状，尽情享受其中的乐趣。
中午太阳出来了，潮水般的金色阳光从他们敞开的窗户直泻进来。麻雀在吱吱喳喳地叫着，空气中飘荡着欢歌笑语。
赫斯渥的目光一刻也离不开嘉莉。在他的一切烦恼中，她好像是一缕阳光。啊，只要她能全心全意地爱他--只要她能带着他在芝加哥那个小公园里见到她时那般快乐无比的心情，张开双臂拥抱他，他将有多么幸福呀！这就是对他的补偿；这就能向他表明他并没有丧失一切。他也就不在乎了。
“嘉莉，”他说，此刻他站了起来，走到她的身边，“你愿意从现在起就和我一起生活吗？”她疑惑地看着他，但是当她感受到他的面部表情那咄咄逼人的力量时，她心软了，产生了同情。这就是爱情，强烈之极--因烦恼和忧虑而加深了的爱情。她忍不住笑了。
“从现在起，就让我成为你的一切吧，”他说。“别再让我担心了。我会忠实于你。我们要去纽约找一套漂亮的公寓。我将重新经商，我们会幸福的。你愿意成为我的人吗？”嘉莉很严肃地听着。她心里并没有多大的激情，但是随着事情的推移，加上这人的亲近，使她像是动了真情。她很替他难过--这是从那份前不久还是十分钦佩的感情中产生的一种惋惜之情。她对他从未有过真正的爱情。倘若她能分析一下自己的感情，就会明白这一点。但是她眼前为他的激情而动的感情却消除了他俩之间的隔阂。
“你愿意和我一起生活了，是吗？”他问。
“是的，”她说，点了点头。
他把她揽进怀里，吻着她的嘴唇和面颊。
“不过，你必须和我结婚，”她说。
“我今天就去领结婚证书，”他回答。
“怎么领法？”她问。
“用个新的姓氏，”他答道。“我要换个新的姓氏，过新的生活。从现在起，我就姓默多克了。”“哦，别用那个姓氏，”嘉莉说。
“为什么？”他说。
“我不喜欢。”
“那么，我叫什么好呢？”他问道。
“哦，随便什么都行，只要不叫默多克。”他想了一会儿，双臂还搂着她，然后说：“叫惠勒行吗？”“这个不错，”嘉莉说。
“那么，好，就用惠勒，”他说，“我今天下午就去领结婚证书。”他们结婚了，由一位浸礼会牧师主婚，这是他们所能找到的第一个合适的神职人员。
终于，芝加哥的酒店回信了。信是莫埃先生口授的。他对赫斯渥做出这种事很感惊讶，对事情弄到这种地步深表遗憾。
倘若他能归还钱款，他们并不想费力去起诉他，因为他们对他实在并无恶意。至于让他回去，或是他们给他恢复原职一事，他们还拿不准那样做会产生什么样的影响。他们要考虑一下，以后再通知他。可能会很快，云云。
总之，这封信告诉他，没有希望了。他们只想拿回钱款，麻烦则越少越好。赫斯渥从信中看到了自己的厄运。他决定把９５００块钱交给他们说要派来的那个代理人，留下１３００块钱自己用。他发了一份电报表示同意，向当天就来旅馆找他的那个代理人作了一番解释。拿了收据，然后就叫嘉莉收拾箱子。
他在开始采取这一最新行动时感到有点沮丧，但最终又振作了起来。他害怕即使在这个时候，他还可能被抓住，被押送回去，所以他试图隐蔽自己的行动，但这几乎不可能做到。他叫人把嘉莉的箱子送到火车站，由铁路用快运托运到纽约，看上去并没有人在监视他。但他还是在夜里离开了。他焦虑万分，生怕在越过国境线的第一站，或者是在纽约火车站，会有一个执法官在等着他。
嘉莉不知道他的偷窃行为和他的种种恐惧，当火车第二天早晨抵达纽约时，感到很高兴。火车正沿着赫德森河行驶，一座座圆顶的青山如同哨兵般守护着宽阔的河谷，这美丽的景色深深地吸引了她。她曾经听说过赫德森河，伟大的都市纽约，现在她看着窗外，心里对这个大都市惊叹不已。
当火车在斯布丁杜佛尔向东转弯，沿着哈莱姆河东岸行驶时，赫斯渥紧张地提醒她，他们已经到了纽约城边。按照她在芝加哥的经验，她原以为会看见一长列的车厢，一大片纵横交错的铁轨，但却发现这里不同。看见哈莱姆河里的一些船只和东河里更多的船只，她那颗年轻的心发痒了。这是大海的第一个征兆。接着是一条平坦的大街，两边耸立着砖造的五层楼房，然后火车钻进了隧道。
在黑暗和烟尘中过了几分钟后，又重见了天日。这时列车员叫道：“中央大站到了。”赫斯渥站起身来，收拾其他的小旅行包。他的神经高度紧张。他带着嘉莉在车门口等了一下，然后下了车。没有人朝他走来，但当他向临街的出口处走过去时，还是偷偷地四处张望。他太激动了，全然忘记了嘉莉，她落在后面，奇怪他竟会只顾自己。当他穿过车站大厦时，紧张到了极点，但随后便松弛下来，他立即上了人行道，除了马车夫，没人向他打招呼。他大大地松了一口气，想起了嘉莉，便转过身去。
“我还以为你要丢下我一个人跑了呢，”她说。
“我在想我们该乘什么车去吉尔赛旅馆，”他回答。
嘉莉正一门心思注意着街上热闹的景象，几乎没听见他在说什么。
“纽约有多大？”她问。
“喔，一百多万人口，”赫斯渥说。
他看了一下四周，叫了一辆马车，但他叫车的神态变了。
多少年来，这是他第一次想到他得算计这些细小的开支。
这是令人不快的事。
他打定主意不在旅馆里久住，而要尽快租一套公寓。他把这个主意告诉嘉莉，她表示同意。
“如果你高兴的话，我们今天就去找，”她说。
突然他想起了他在蒙特利尔的经历。在那些大旅馆里。他肯定会遇到芝加哥的熟人。他站了起来，对马车夫说话。
“去贝尔福特旅馆，”他说，知道他的熟人不大会去这家旅馆。然后他坐了下来。
“住宅区在哪里？"嘉莉问道，她以为街道两旁的那些五层楼不是住家的地方。
“到处都是，”赫斯渥说，他对这个城市相当熟悉。“纽约没有草坪。这些都是住宅。”“哦，这样的话，我不喜欢这里，”嘉莉说，她已经开始有些自己的主见了。
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Chapter 30 THE KINGDOM OF GREATNESS: THE PILGRIM ADREAM
Whatever a man like Hurstwood could be in Chicago, it is very evident that he would be but an inconspicuous drop in an ocean like New York. In Chicago, whose population still ranged about 500,000, millionaires were not numerous. The rich had not become so conspicuously rich as to drown all moderate incomes in obscurity. The attention of the inhabitants was not so distracted by local celebrities in the dramatic, artistic, social, and religious fields as to shut the well-positioned man from view. In Chicago the two roads to distinction were politics and trade. In New York the roads were any one of a half-hundred, and each had been diligently pursued by hundreds, so that celebrities were numerous. The sea was already full of whales. A common fish must needs disappear wholly from view -- remain unseen. In other words, Hurstwood was nothing.
There is a more subtle result of such a situation as this, which, though not always taken into account, produces the tragedies of the world. The great create an atmosphere which reacts badly upon the small. This atmosphere is easily and quickly felt. Walk among the magnificent residences, the splendid equipages, the gilded shops, restaurants, resorts of all kinds; scent the flowers, the silks, the wines; drink of the laughter springing from the soul of luxurious content, of the glances which gleam like light from defiant spears; feel the quality of the smiles which cut like glistening swords and of strides born of place, and you shall know of what is the atmosphere of the high and mighty. Little use to argue that of such is not the kingdom of greatness, but so long as the world is attracted by this and the human heart views this as the one desirable realm which it must attain, so long, to that heart, will this remain the realm of greatness. So long, also, will the atmosphere of this realm work its desperate results in the soul of man. It is like a chemical reagent. One day of it, like one drop of the other, will so affect and discolour the views, the aims, the desire of the mind, that it will thereafter remain forever dyed. A day of it to the untried mind is like opium to the untried body. A craving is set up which, if gratified, shall eternally result in dreams and death. Aye! dreams unfulfilled -- gnawing, luring, idle phantoms which beckon and lead, beckon and lead, until death and dissolution dissolve their power and restore us blind to nature's heart.
A man of Hurstwood's age and temperament is not subject to the illusions and burning desires of youth, but neither has he the strength of hope which gushes as a fountain in the heart of youth. Such an atmosphere could not incite in him the cravings of a boy of eighteen, but in so far as they were excited, the lack of hope made them proportionately bitter. He could not fail to notice the signs of affluence and luxury on every hand. He had been to New York before and knew the resources of its folly. In part it was an awesome place to him, for here gathered all that he most respected on this earth -- wealth, place, and fame. The majority of the celebrities with whom he had tipped glasses in his day as manager hailed from this self-centred and populous spot. The most inviting stories of pleasure and luxury had been told of places and individuals here. He knew it to be true that unconsciously he was brushing elbows with fortune the livelong day; that a hundred or five hundred thousand gave no one the privilege of living more than comfortably in so wealthy a place. Fashion and pomp required more ample sums, so that the poor man was nowhere. All this he realised, now quite sharply, as he faced the city, cut off from his friends, despoiled of his modest fortune, and even his name, and forced to begin the battle for place and comfort all over again. He was not old, but he was not so dull but that he could feel he soon would be. Of a sudden, then, this show of fine clothes, place, and power took on peculiar significance. It was emphasised by contrast with his own distressing state.
And it was distressing. He soon found that freedom from fear of arrest was not the sine qua non of his existence. That danger dissolved, the next necessity became the grievous thing. The paltry sum of thirteen hundred and some odd dollars set against the need of rent, clothing, food, and pleasure for years to come was a spectacle little calculated to induce peace of mind in one who had been accustomed to spend five times that sum in the course of a year. He thought upon the subject rather actively the first few days he was in New York, and decided that he must act quickly. As a consequence, he consulted the business opportunities advertised in the morning papers and began investigations on his own account.
That was not before he had become settled, however. Carrie and he went looking for a flat, as arranged, and found one in Seventy-eighth Street near Amsterdam Avenue. It was a five-story building, and their flat was on the third floor. Owing to the fact that the street was not yet built up solidly, it was possible to see east to the green tops of the trees in Central Park and west to the broad waters of the Hudson, a glimpse of which was to be had out of the west windows. For the privilege of six rooms and a bath, running in a straight line, they were compelled to pay thirty-five dollars a month -- an average, and yet exorbitant, rent for a home at the time. Carrie noticed the difference between the size of the rooms here and in Chicago and mentioned it.
"You'll not find anything better, dear," said Hurstwood, "unless you go into one of the old-fashioned houses, and then you won't have any of these conveniences."
Carrie picked out the new abode because of its newness and bright wood-work. It was one of the very new ones supplied with steam heat, which was a great advantage. The stationary range, hot and cold water, dumb-waiter, speaking tubes, and call-bell for the janitor pleased her very much. She had enough of the instincts of a housewife to take great satisfaction in these things.
Hurstwood made arrangement with one of the instalment houses whereby they furnished the flat complete and accepted fifty dollars down and ten dollars a month. He then had a little plate, bearing the name G. W. Wheeler, made, which he placed on his letter-box in the hall. It sounded exceedingly odd to Carrie to be called Mrs. Wheeler by the janitor, but in time she became used to it and looked upon the name as her own.
These house details settled, Hurstwood visited some of the advertised opportunities to purchase an interest in some flourishing down-town bar. After the palatial resort in Adams Street, he could not stomach the commonplace saloons which he found advertised. He lost a number of days looking up these and finding them disagreeable. He did, however, gain considerable knowledge by talking, for he discovered the influence of Tammany Hall and the value of standing in with the police. The most profitable and flourishing places he found to be those which conducted anything but a legitimate business, such as that controlled by Fitzgerald and Moy. Elegant back rooms and private drinking booths on the second floor were usually adjuncts of very profitable places. He saw by portly keepers, whose shirt fronts shone with large diamonds, and whose clothes were properly cut, that the liquor business here, as elsewhere, yielded the same golden profit.
At last he found an individual who had a resort in Warren Street, which seemed an excellent venture. It was fairly well-appearing and susceptible of improvement. The owner claimed the business to be excellent, and it certainly looked so.
"We deal with a very good class of people," he told Hurstwood. "Merchants, salesmen, and professionals. It's a well-dressed class. No bums. We don't allow 'em in the place."
Hurstwood listened to the cash-register ring, and watched the trade for a while.
"It's profitable enough for two, is it?" he asked.
"You can see for yourself if you're any judge of the liquor trade," said the owner. "This is only one of the two places I have. The other is down in Nassau Street. I can't tend to them both alone. If I had some one who knew the business thoroughly I wouldn't mind sharing with him in this one and letting him manage it."
"I've had experience enough," said Hurstwood blandly, but he felt a little diffident about referring to Fitzgerald and Moy.
"Well, you can suit yourself, Mr. Wheeler," said the proprietor.
He only offered a third interest in the stock, fixtures, and good-will, and this in return for a thousand dollars and managerial ability on the part of the one who should come in. There was no property involved, because the owner of the saloon merely rented from an estate.
The offer was genuine enough, but it was a question with Hurstwood whether a third interest in that locality could be made to yield one hundred and fifty dollars a month, which he figured he must have in order to meet the ordinary family expenses and be comfortable. It was not the time, however, after many failures to find what he wanted, to hesitate. It looked as though a third would pay a hundred a month now. By judicious management and improvement, it might be made to pay more. Accordingly he agreed to enter into partnership, and made over his thousand dollars, preparing to enter the next day.
His first inclination was to be elated, and he confided to Carrie that he thought he had made an excellent arrangement. Time, however, introduced food for reflection. He found his partner to be very disagreeable. Frequently he was the worse for liquor, which made him surly. This was the last thing which Hurstwood was used to in business. Besides, the business varied. It was nothing like the class of patronage which he had enjoyed in Chicago. He found that it would take a long time to make friends. These people hurried in and out without seeking the pleasures of friendship. It was no gathering or lounging place. Whole days and weeks passed, without one such hearty greeting as he had been wont to enjoy every day in Chicago.
For another thing, Hurstwood missed the celebrities -- those well-dressed, elite individuals who lend grace to the average bars and bring news from far-off and exclusive circles. He did not see one such in a month. Evenings, when still at his post, he would occasionally read in the evening papers incidents concerning celebrities whom he knew -- whom he had drunk a glass with many a time. They would visit a bar like Fitzgerald and Moy's in Chicago, or the Hoffman House, uptown, but he knew that he would never see them down here.
Again, the business did not pay as well as he thought. It increased a little, but he found he would have to watch his household expenses, which was humiliating.
In the very beginning it was a delight to go home late at night, as he did, and find Carrie. He managed to run up and take dinner with her between six and seven, and to remain home until nine o'clock in the morning, but the novelty of this waned after a time, and he began to feel the drag of his duties.
The first month had scarcely passed before Carrie said in a very natural way: "I think I'll go down this week and buy a dress."
"What kind?" said Hurstwood.
"Oh, something for street wear."
"All right," he answered, smiling, although he noted mentally that it would be more agreeable to his finances if she didn't. Nothing was said about it the next day, but the following morning he asked:
"Have you done anything about your dress?"
"Not yet," said Carrie.
He paused a few moments, as if in thought, and then said:
"Would you mind putting it off a few days?"
"No," replied Carrie, who did not catch the drift of his remarks. She had never thought of him in connection with money troubles before. "Why?"
"Well, I'll tell you," said Hurstwood. "This investment of mine is taking a lot of money just now. I expect to get it all back shortly, but just at present I am running close."
"Oh!" answered Carrie. "Why, certainly, dear. Why didn't you tell me before?"
"It wasn't necessary," said Hurstwood.
For all her acquiescence, there was something about the way Hurstwood spoke which reminded Carrie of Drouet and his little deal which he was always about to put through. It was only the thought of a second, but it was a beginning. It was something new in her thinking of Hurstwood.
Other things followed from time to time, little things of the same sort, which in their cumulative effect were eventually equal to a full revelation. Carrie was not dull by any means. Two persons cannot long dwell together without coming to an understanding of one another. The mental difficulties of an individual reveal themselves whether he voluntarily confesses them or not. Trouble gets in the air and contributes gloom, which speaks for itself. Hurstwood dressed as nicely as usual, but they were the same clothes he had in Canada. Carrie noticed that he did not install a large wardrobe, though his own was anything but large. She noticed, also, that he did not suggest many amusements, said nothing about the food, seemed concerned about his business. This was not the easy Hurstwood of Chicago -- not the liberal, opulent Hurstwood she had known. The change was too obvious to escape detection.
In time she began to feel that a change had come about, and that she was not in his confidence. He was evidently secretive and kept his own counsel. She found herself asking him questions about little things. This is a disagreeable state to a woman. Great love makes it seem reasonable, sometimes plausible, but never satisfactory. Where great love is not, a more definite and less satisfactory conclusion is reached.
As for Hurstwood, he was making a great fight against the difficulties of a changed condition. He was too shrewd not to realise the tremendous mistake he had made, and appreciate that he had done well in getting where he was, and yet he could not help contrasting his present state with his former, hour after hour, and day after day.
Besides, he had the disagreeable fear of meeting old-time friends, ever since one such encounter which he made shortly after his arrival in the city. It was in Broadway that he saw a man approaching him whom he knew. There was no time for simulating non-recognition. The exchange of glances had been too sharp, the knowledge of each other too apparent. So the friend, a buyer for one of the Chicago wholesale houses, felt, perforce, the necessity of stopping.
"How are you?" he said, extending his hand with an evident mixture of feeling and a lack of plausible interest.
"Very well," said Hurstwood, equally embarrassed. "How is it with you?"
"All right; I'm down here doing a little buying. Are you located here now?"
"Yes," said Hurstwood, "I have a place down in Warren Street."
"Is that so?" said the friend. "Glad to hear it. I'll come down and see you."
"Do," said Hurstwood.
"So long," said the other, smiling affably and going on.
"He never asked for my number," thought Hurstwood; "he wouldn't think of coming." He wiped his forehead, which had grown damp, and hoped sincerely he would meet no one else.
These things told upon his good-nature, such as it was. His one hope was that things would change for the better in a money way. He had Carrie. His furniture was being paid for. He was maintaining his position. As for Carrie, the amusements he could give her would have to do for the present. He could probably keep up his pretensions sufficiently long without exposure to make good, and then all would be well. He failed therein to take account of the frailties of human nature -- the difficulties of matrimonial life. Carrie was young. With him and with her varying mental states were common. At any moment the extremes of feeling might be anti-polarised at the dinner table. This often happens in the best regulated families. Little things brought out on such occasions need great love to obliterate them afterward. Where that is not, both parties count two and two and make a problem after a while.
不管赫斯渥这种人在芝加哥是个何等人物，但到了纽约这地方，他显然只是沧海一栗罢了。在还只有大约五十万人口的芝加哥，百万富翁并不多。富人还没有富到能使得有中等收入的人默默无闻的地步。居民们对当地戏剧界、艺术界、社交界和宗教界的名流也还没有着迷到发狂的程度，以至于不把一般地位优越的人放在眼里。在芝加哥，成名的道路有两条，从政和经商。可在纽约，成名的道路却有几十条，任你选择，而每一条路上都有成百上千的人在勤奋追求，所以有很多的知名人士。大海里已经挤满了鲸鱼，一条普通的小鱼不得不完全销声匿迹，永不露面。换句话说，赫斯渥是微不足道的。 这样的处境还会产生一种更加微妙的后果，它虽然往往不被人注意，但却能酿成世间的悲剧。大人物造就的气氛会对小人物产生恶劣的影响。这种气氛很容易也很快就能被感觉到。当你置身于豪华的住宅、精美的马车和金碧辉煌的店铺、饭馆和各种娱乐场所之中；当你嗅到了花香、绸香和酒香；当你领略了生活奢侈的人发出的心满意足的笑声和似寒矛般闪闪发亮的目空一切的眼光；当你感到像利剑一样刺人的笑容以及那炫耀显赫地位的趾高气扬的步伐时，你就会明白什么是有权有势的人的气派。你也用不着争辩，说这并不是伟人的境界。因为只要世界注重它，人心视它为必须达到的一种理想的境界，那么，对这种人来说，这就将永远是伟人的境界。而且，这种境界造就的气氛也将给人的心灵带来无法挽回的后果。这就像是一种化学试剂。在这里过上一天，就像点上了一滴化学试剂，将会影响和改变人的观点、目的和欲望的颜色，使之就此染上这一色彩。这样的一天对于没有经验的心灵就像鸦片对于没有烟瘾的肉体一般。一种欲望由此而生，倘若要得到满足，将永无止境，最终导致梦想和死亡。唉，尚未实现的梦想啊，咬啮着人心，迷惑着人心，那些痴心梦想在召唤和引导着，召唤和引导着，直到死亡和毁灭来化解它们的力量，把我们浑浑噩噩地送回大自然的怀抱。
像赫斯渥这种年龄和性情的人，是不会轻易受年轻人的种种幻想和炽烈的欲望的影响的，但也缺少年轻人心里如泉水般喷涌而出的希望的力量。这种气氛不会在他心里激起１８岁少年的那种渴望。但是一旦被激起，越是没有希望，就会越加令人痛苦。他不能不注意到来自各方面的富裕和奢侈的种种迹象。他以前来过纽约，了解这里的骄奢淫逸。在某种程度上，对他来说，纽约是个令人敬畏的地方，因为这里集中了他在这个世界上最尊重的东西--财富、地位和名声。在他当经理的那些日子里，和他一起饮过酒的大多数名流，就出身于这个以自我为中心、人口稠密的地方。那些最诱人的有关寻欢作乐和奢侈放荡的故事，讲的就是这里的一些地方和人物。他知道自己确实整天都在不知不觉中和有钱人擦肩而过。在如此富裕的地方，１０万或５０万块钱并不能让人享有过豪华生活的权力。时髦和浮华需要更多的钞票，因此穷人无法生存。现在，当他面对这个城市时，他十分深刻地认识到这一切。这时的他，朋友来往已经断绝，他的那点财产，甚至连名字，都被剥夺了，他不得不从头开始为地位和幸福而奋斗。他还不算老，但他并不迟钝得意识不到自己很快就会变老。于是，眼前这华丽的衣着、地位以及权力，突然间具有了特殊的意义，与他自己的艰难处境相对比，其意义更为重大。
他的处境的确艰难。他很快就发现，消除对被捕的恐惧，并不是他生存的必要条件。这种危险已经消失，但下一个需要却成了令人头疼的事。那区区１３００多块钱，要用来对付今后多年的房租、衣食以及娱乐。这样的前景，是不会让一个习惯于一年之内就要花掉５倍于这个数目的钱的人感到心情平静的。他在初到纽约的几天中，就相当积极地考虑了这个问题，决定得赶快行动。因此，他在报纸的广告中寻找着做生意的机会，并开始亲自调查研究。
不过这是在他安居下来之后的事。嘉莉和他按照计划去找一套公寓，在靠近阿姆斯特丹大道的七十八街上找到了一套。这是一幢五层楼的建筑，他们的房间是在三楼。因为这条街还没有造满房子，所以向东看得见中央公园的绿树梢，向西看得见赫德森河宽阔的水面，从西面的窗户可以看见一些河上的景象。租用一排六个房间和一个浴室，他们每月得付３５块钱--这在当时只是一般住户的房租，但还是高得吓人。嘉莉注意到这里的房间比芝加哥的小并指出了这一点。
“找不到比这更好的了，亲爱的，”赫斯渥说，“除非去找那些老式住宅，不过那样的话，你就没有这些方便的设施了。”嘉莉选中这套新居，是因为它建筑新颖，木建部分色彩鲜亮。这是最新式的建筑之一，装有暖气，这是很大的优点。固定的灶具，冷热水供应，升降送货机，传话筒以及叫门房的铃。
这些她都十分喜欢。她很具有家庭主妇的天性，因而对这些设施非常满意。
赫斯渥和一家分斯付款的家具店商定，由他们提供全套家具，先付５０块钱定金，以后每月再付１０块钱。然后，他定做了一块小铜牌，刻上“乔·威·惠勒”的姓名，装在过道里他的信箱上。开始嘉莉听到门房叫她惠勒太太时，觉得听起来很怪，但过些时候她听惯了，也就把它当作自己的姓名了。
等这些家庭琐事安排妥当之后，赫斯渥就去拜访一些广告上登的能提供做生意的机会的地方，想在市区某家生意兴隆的酒店里买一部分股权。有了在亚当斯街那家华丽的酒店工作的经历，他无法忍受这些登广告的庸俗酒馆。他花了好几天时间去拜访这些酒馆，发现它们都不称心，不过，在交谈中，他倒是学到了不少知识，因为他发现了坦慕尼堂的势力以及和警察拉好关系的重要性。他发现最赚钱、最兴隆的是那些做各种非法生意的场所，而不是费茨杰拉德和莫埃开的那种合法经营的酒店。那些十分赚钱的地方，楼上往往附设优雅的密室和秘密饮酒间。那些大腹便便的店主的衬衫前襟上闪耀着大块的钻石，穿的衣服裁剪合身。他从他们身上看出，这里的卖酒生意和其它地方一样，赢利很高。
最后，他找到了一个人，这个人在沃伦街开有一家酒店，似乎是桩大好买卖。酒店看上去不错，而且还可以加以改进。
店主声称生意极好，当然，看上去也是如此。
“我们这里接待的人都很有教养，”他告诉赫斯渥说，“商人、推销员，还有自由职业者，属于衣冠楚楚的阶层。没有无业游民。我们是不许他们来这里的。"赫斯渥听着现金收入记录机的铃声，观察了一会儿营业状况。
“两个人合营也有钱可赚，是吗？”他问。
“倘若你对卖酒生意很在行的话，你自己可以看嘛，”店主说。“这只是我开的两家酒店之一。另一家在那边的纳索街上。
我一个人照料不了两家。若是能找到一个很懂这行生意的人，我乐意和他合营这一家，让他当经理。”“我有足够的经验，”赫斯渥淡淡地说道，但他没敢提及费莫酒店。
“那么，你看着办吧，惠勒先生。”店主说。
他只愿意出让１A３的股权、设备和信誉，条件是愿意合股的人要出１０００块钱，而且还要有经营能力。这中间不涉及房产问题，因为这是酒店主人从一个房地产商那里租来用的。
这笔交易倒是货真价实。但对赫斯渥来说还有个问题，那就是这种地方的１A３股权，能否每月赢利１５０块钱。他估计他必须要有这个数目，才能维持日常开支并且不显得拮据。可是，为了找到他喜欢的地方，他已经失败了很多次，现在不是犹豫的时候了。看起来１A３股权目前似乎能每月赢利１００块钱。只要经营得当，并加以改进，可能还会多赚一些。因此，他同意合股，并交出他那１０００块钱，准备第二天就职。
他起初觉得很是得意，向嘉莉吐露说，他认为自己作出了最好的安排。然而，烦恼的事随着时间的推移出现了。他发现这位合股人很难相处。他常常喝醉酒，酒后脾气很坏。这是生意场上赫斯渥最看不惯的事。此外，生意也变味了。这里的主顾完全不像他在芝加哥时所乐于结交的那一类人。他发现在这里交朋友要花上很长的时间。这些人匆匆而来，又匆匆而去，并不寻求友情的乐趣。这里根本不是聚会或休息的场所。
整整几天、几个星期过去了，他没有听到过一声他在芝加哥时习惯了的、每天都能听到的那种亲切的招呼声。
另外，赫斯渥想念那些知名人士--那些衣冠楚楚，能使普通酒吧显得体面，并且带来远方的消息和圈子内的新闻的社会名流。他一个月里也没有见到过一个这样的人物。晚上，当还没下班时，他偶尔会从晚报上看到有关他认识的那些知名人士的消息--他曾经多次和这些人在一起喝过酒。他们会去像芝加哥的费莫酒店那样的酒吧，或去住宅区的霍夫曼酒家，但他知道，他绝对不会在这里看见他们。
还有，这桩生意也不像他原先想的那样赚钱，赚的钱是稍微多了一点。但是他发现他必须注意节省家庭开支，这很让人难堪。
最初，虽然他总是很晚才回家，但能回家并看到嘉莉是一种快乐。他设法在六七点钟之间赶回去和她一起吃晚饭，然后就呆在家里，直到第二天早晨９点。可是过了些时候，这种新鲜感逐渐消失了。他开始感到他的职责成了累赘。
第一个月刚过，嘉莉就很自然地说：“我想这个星期去市里买一件衣服。”“买什么样的衣服？”赫斯渥问。
“哦，上街穿的。”
“行埃”他笑着回答，虽然他心里想说，按照他的经济状况，她还是别去买为好。
第二天没再说起这事，但是第三天早晨他问道：“你的衣服买了吗？”“还没有，”嘉莉说。
他停顿了一会儿，像是在思考着什么，然后说：“推迟几天再买好吗？”“不好，”嘉莉回答，她没有听懂他说这话是什么意思。她以前从未想过他会在钱上遇到麻烦。“为什么呀？”“哦，我告诉你吧，”赫斯渥说。“我这次投资刚刚花了一大笔钱。我想我能很快把它赚回来，可眼前手头还比较紧。”“唉呀！”嘉莉回答，“当然可以，亲爱的。你为什么不早点告诉我呢？”“那时不必要嘛，”赫斯渥说。
尽管嘉莉同意了，但是赫斯渥说话的神态，有点使她想起杜洛埃和他总是说就要做成的那笔小生意。这种想法只是一闪而过，但它却开了一个头。它意味着她对赫斯渥有了新的看法。
此后又不断地发生了其它一些事情，同样性质的小事情，这些事情累积起来，最终的效果是给人以充分的启示。嘉莉一点也不迟钝。两个人在一起住久了，不可能不逐渐了解对方的。一个人心里有了难处，不管他是否主动地吐露，都要表现出来，烦恼影响神态，使人忧郁，是无法掩饰的。赫斯渥的穿着打扮还和往常一样漂亮，但还是在加拿大时穿的那些衣服。嘉莉注意到他并没有购置大量的衣服，虽然他原有的衣服并不多。她还注意到他不大提起什么娱乐，从不谈论食物，似乎在为他的生意犯愁。这已不是芝加哥的那个自由自在的赫斯渥，不是她过去认识的那个豪放、阔绰的赫斯渥了。变化太明显了，逃不过她的眼睛。
过了一些时候，她开始感到又发生了一种变化，他不再向她吐露心事了。显然他在遮遮掩掩，不愿公开自己的想法。她发现，一些小事都得她开口问他。这种状况对女人来说是不愉快的。有了伟大的爱情，它还能显得合理，有时还似乎是可行的，但绝对不是令人满意的。要是没有伟大的爱情，就会得出一个更加明确、更加不令人满意的结论。
至于赫斯渥，他正在同新的处境所带来的种种困难进行艰苦的斗争。他非常精明，不可能不意识到自己已经铸成大错，也知道自己能混到现在这样已经很好了，但他还是忍不住要拿他现在的处境和从前相比，每时每刻、日复一日地相比。
此外，他还有着一种不愉快的恐惧感，害怕遇到过去的朋友。自从他刚到这个城市不久，有过一次这样的遭遇之后，他就有了这种感觉。那是在百老汇大街上，他看见一个熟人迎面走来。已经来不及假装没看见了。他们已经四目相对，而且显然都认出了对方。于是这位朋友，芝加哥一家批发行的采购员，不得不停了下来。
“你好吗？”他说，伸出手来，明显地露出复杂的表情，连一点装出来的关心都没有。
“很好，”赫斯渥说，同样地尴尬。“你过得怎么样？”“很好，我来这里采购一些东西。你现在住在这里吗？”“是的，”赫斯渥说，“我在沃伦街开了一家店。”“真的吗？”这位朋友说。“我很高兴听到这个。我会来看你的。”“欢迎你来，”赫斯渥说。
“再见，”另一位说，友好地笑了笑，继续赶路。
“他连我的门牌号码都不问，”赫斯渥想。“他根本就不想来。”他擦了擦额头，都已经出汗了。他真不希望再遇见其他的熟人。
这些事情影响不他原来像是有的好脾气。他只是希望在经济方面的情况能有所好转。他有了嘉莉。家具钱正在付清。
他已经开始站住了脚。至于嘉莉，他能给她的娱乐不多，但眼前也只能这样了。他也许可以把自己的假象维持很长的时间而不暴露，直至获得成功，然后一切就都会好起来了。在此，他没有考虑到人性的种种弱点--夫妻生活的种种难处。嘉莉还年轻。双方往往都会有变化无常的心态。随时都有可能带着绝对不同的心情坐在同一张饭桌上。在最为协调的家庭里，也常常会发生这种事。在这类情况下产生的小摩擦，需要伟大的爱情事后来消除。要是没有伟大的爱情，双方都斤斤计较，过些时候就会产生大的问题。
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Chapter 31 A PET OF GOOD FORTUNE: BROADWAY FLAUNTS ITS JOYS
The effect of the city and his own situation on Hurstwood was paralleled in the case of Carrie, who accepted the things fortune provided with the most genial good-nature. New York, despite her first expression of disapproval, soon interested her exceedingly. Its clear atmosphere, more populous thoroughfares, and peculiar indifference struck her forcibly. She had never seen such a little flat as hers, and yet it soon enlisted her affection. The new furniture made an excellent showing, the sideboard which Hurstwood himself arranged gleamed brightly. The furniture for each room was appropriate, and in the so-called parlour, or front room, was installed a piano, because Carrie said she would like to learn to play. She kept a servant and developed rapidly in household tactics and information. For the first time in her life she felt settled, and somewhat justified in the eyes of society as she conceived of it. Her thoughts were merry and innocent enough. For a long while she concerned herself over the arrangement of New York flats, and wondered at ten families living in one building and all remaining strange and indifferent to each other. She also marvelled at the whistles of the hundreds of vessels in the harbour -- the long, low cries of the Sound steamers and ferry-boats when fog was on. The mere fact that these things spoke from the sea made them wonderful. She looked much at what she could see of the Hudson from her west windows and of the great city building up rapidly on either hand. It was much to ponder over, and sufficed to entertain her for more than a year without becoming stale.
For another thing, Hurstwood was exceedingly interesting in his affection for her. Troubled as he was, he never exposed his difficulties to her. He carried himself with the same self-important air, took his new state with easy familiarity, and rejoiced in Carrie's proclivities and successes. Each evening he arrived promptly to dinner, and found the little dining-room a most inviting spectacle. In a way, the smallness of the room added to its luxury. It looked full and replete. The white-covered table was arrayed with pretty dishes and lighted with a four-armed candelabra, each light of which was topped with a red shade. Between Carrie and the girl the steaks and chops came out all right, and canned goods did the rest for a while. Carrie studied the art of making biscuit, and soon reached the stage where she could show a plate of light, palatable morsels for her labour.
In this manner the second, third, and fourth months passed. Winter came, and with it a feeling that indoors was best, so that the attending of theatres was not much talked of. Hurstwood made great efforts to meet all expenditures without a show of feeling one way or the other. He pretended that he was reinvesting his money in strengthening the business for greater ends in the future. He contented himself with a very moderate allowance of personal apparel, and rarely suggested anything for Carrie. Thus the first winter passed.
In the second year, the business which Hurstwood managed did increase somewhat. He got out of it regularly the $150 per month which he had anticipated. Unfortunately, by this time Carrie had reached certain conclusions, and he had scraped up a few acquaintances.
Being of a passive and receptive rather than an active and aggressive nature, Carrie accepted the situation. Her state seemed satisfactory enough. Once in a while they would go to a theatre together, occasionally in season to the beaches and different points about the city, but they picked up no acquaintances. Hurstwood naturally abandoned his show of fine manners with her and modified his attitude to one of easy familiarity. There were no misunderstandings, no apparent differences of opinion. In fact, without money or visiting friends, he led a life which could neither arouse jealousy nor comment. Carrie rather sympathised with his efforts and thought nothing upon her lack of entertainment such as she had enjoyed in Chicago. New York as a corporate entity and her flat temporarily seemed sufficient.
However, as Hurstwood's business increased, he, as stated, began to pick up acquaintances. He also began to allow himself more clothes. He convinced himself that his home life was very precious to him, but allowed that he could occasionally stay away from dinner. The first time he did this he sent a message saying that he would be detained. Carrie ate alone, and wished that it might not happen again. The second time, also, he sent word, but at the last moment. The third time he forgot entirely and explained afterwards. These events were months apart, each.
"Where were you, George?" asked Carrie, after the first absence.
"Tied up at the office," he said genially. "There were some accounts I had to straighten."
"I'm sorry you couldn't get home," she said kindly. "I was fixing to have such a nice dinner."
The second time he gave a similar excuse, but the third time the feeling about it in Carrie's mind was a little bit out of the ordinary.
"I couldn't get home," he said, when he came in later in the evening, "I was so busy."
"Couldn't you have sent me word?" asked Carrie.
"I meant to," he said, "but you know I forgot it until it was too late to do any good."
"And I had such a good dinner!" said Carrie.
Now, it so happened that from his observations of Carrie he began to imagine that she was of the thoroughly domestic type of mind. He really thought, after a year, that her chief expression in life was finding its natural channel in household duties. Notwithstanding the fact that he had observed her act in Chicago, and that during the past year he had only seen her limited in her relations to her flat and him by conditions which he made, and that she had not gained any friends or associates, he drew this peculiar conclusion. With it came a feeling of satisfaction in having a wife who could thus be content, and this satisfaction worked its natural result. That is, since he imagined he saw her satisfied, he felt called upon to give only that which contributed to such satisfaction. He supplied the furniture, the decorations, the food, and the necessary clothing. Thoughts of entertaining her, leading her out into the shine and show of life, grew less and less. He felt attracted to the outer world, but did not think she would care to go along. Once he went to the theatre alone. Another time he joined a couple of his new friends at an evening game of poker. Since his money-feathers were beginning to grow again he felt like sprucing about. All this, however, in a much less imposing way than had been his wont in Chicago. He avoided the gay places where he would be apt to meet those who had known him.
Now, Carrie began to feel this in various sensory ways. She was not the kind to be seriously disturbed by his actions. Not loving him greatly, she could not be jealous in a disturbing way. In fact, she was not jealous at all. Hurstwood was pleased with her placid manner, when he should have duly considered it. When he did not come home it did not seem anything like a terrible thing to her. She gave him credit for having the usual allurements of men -- people to talk to, places to stop, friends to consult with. She was perfectly willing that he should enjoy himself in his way, but she did not care to be neglected herself. Her state still seemed fairly reasonable, however. All she did observe was that Hurstwood was somewhat different.
Some time in the second year of their residence in Seventy-eighth Street the flat across the hall from Carrie became vacant, and into it moved a very handsome young woman and her husband, with both of whom Carrie afterwards became acquainted. This was brought about solely by the arrangement of the flats, which were united in one place, as it were, by the dumb-waiter. This useful elevator, by which fuel, groceries, and the like were sent up from the basement, and garbage and waste sent down, was used by both residents on one floor; that is, a small door opened into it from each flat.
If the occupants of both flats answered to the whistle of the janitor at the same time, they would stand face to face when they opened the dumb-waiter doors. One morning, when Carrie went to remove her paper, the newcomer, a handsome brunette of perhaps twenty-three years of age, was there for a like purpose. She was in a night-robe and dressing-gown, with her hair very much tousled, but she looked so pretty and good-natured that Carrie instantly conceived a liking for her. The newcomer did no more than smile shamefacedly, but it was sufficient. Carrie felt that she would like to know her, and a similar feeling stirred in the mind of the other, who admired Carrie's innocent face.
"That's a real pretty woman who has moved in next door," said Carrie to Hurstwood at the breakfast table.
"Who are they?" asked Hurstwood.
"I don't know," said Carrie. "The name on the bell is Vance. Some one over there plays beautifully. I guess it must be she."
"Well, you never can tell what sort of people you're living next to in this town, can you?" said Hurstwood, expressing the customary New York opinion about neighbours.
"Just think," said Carrie, "I have been in this house with nine other families for over a year and I don't know a soul. These people have been here over a month, and I haven't seen any one before this morning."
"It's just as well," said Hurstwood. "You never know who you're going to get in with. Some of these people are pretty bad company."
"I expect so," said Carrie, agreeably.
The conversation turned to other things, and Carrie thought no more upon the subject until a day or two later, when, going out to market, she encountered Mrs. Vance coming in. The latter recognised her and nodded, for which Carrie returned a smile. This settled the probability of acquaintanceship. If there had been no faint recognition on this occasion, there would have been no future association.
Carrie saw no more of Mrs. Vance for several weeks, but she heard her play through the thin walls which divided the front rooms of the flats, and was pleased by the merry selection of pieces and the brilliance of their rendition. She could play only moderately herself, and such variety as Mrs. Vance exercised bordered, for Carrie, upon the verge of great art. Everything she had seen and heard thus far -- the merest scraps and shadows -- indicated that these people were, in a measure, refined and in comfortable circumstances. So Carrie was ready for any extension of the friendship which might follow.
One day Carrie's bell rang and the servant, who was in the kitchen, pressed the button which caused the front door of the general entrance on the ground floor to be electrically unlatched. When Carrie waited at her own door on the third floor to see who it might be coming up to call on her, Mrs. Vance appeared.
"I hope you'll excuse me," she said. "I went out a while ago and forgot my outside key, so I thought I'd ring your bell."
This was a common trick of other residents of the building, whenever they had forgotten their outside keys. They did not apologise for it, however.
"Certainly," said Carrie. "I'm glad you did. I do the same thing sometimes."
"Isn't it just delightful weather?" said Mrs. Vance, pausing for a moment.
Thus, after a few more preliminaries, this visiting acquaintance was well launched, and in the young Mrs. Vance Carrie found an agreeable companion.
On several occasions Carrie visited her and was visited. Both flats were good to look upon, though that of the Vances tended somewhat more to the luxurious.
"I want you to come over this evening and meet my husband," said Mrs. Vance, not long after their intimacy began. "He wants to meet you. You play cards, don't you?"
"A little," said Carrie.
"Well, we'll have a game of cards. If your husband comes home bring him over."
"He's not coming to dinner to-night," said Carrie.
"Well, when he does come we'll call him in."
Carrie acquiesced, and that evening met the portly Vance, an individual a few years younger than Hurstwood, and who owed his seemingly comfortable matrimonial state much more to his money than to his good looks. He thought well of Carrie upon the first glance and laid himself out to be genial, teaching her a new game of cards and talking to her about New York and its pleasures. Mrs. Vance played some upon the piano, and at last Hurstwood came.
"I am very glad to meet you," he said to Mrs. Vance when Carrie introduced him, showing much of the old grace which had captivated Carrie.
"Did you think your wife had run away?" said Mr. Vance, extending his hand upon introduction.
"I didn't know but what she might have found a better husband," said Hurstwood.
He now turned his attention to Mrs. Vance, and in a flash Carrie saw again what she for some time had sub-consciously missed in Hurstwood -- the adroitness and flattery of which he was capable. She also saw that she was not well dressed -- not nearly as well dressed -- as Mrs. Vance. These were not vague ideas any longer. Her situation was cleared up for her. She felt that her life was becoming stale, and therein she felt cause for gloom. The old helpful, urging melancholy was restored. The desirous Carrie was whispered to concerning her possibilities.
There were no immediate results to this awakening, for Carrie had little power of initiative; but, nevertheless, she seemed ever capable of getting herself into the tide of change where she would be easily borne along. Hurstwood noticed nothing. He had been unconscious of the marked contrasts which Carrie had observed. He did not even detect the shade of melancholy which settled in her eyes. Worst of all, she now began to feel the loneliness of the flat and seek the company of Mrs. Vance, who liked her exceedingly.
"Let's go to the matinee this afternoon," said Mrs. Vance, who had stepped across into Carrie's flat one morning, still arrayed in a soft pink dressing-gown, which she had donned upon rising. Hurstwood and Vance had gone their separate ways nearly an hour before.
"All right," said Carrie, noticing the air of the petted and well-groomed woman in Mrs. Vance's general appearance. She looked as though she was dearly loved and her every wish gratified. "What shall we see?"
"Oh, I do want to see Nat Goodwin," said Mrs. Vance. "I do think he is the jolliest actor. The papers say this is such a good play."
"What time will we have to start?" asked Carrie.
"Let's go at one and walk down Broadway from Thirty-fourth Street," said Mrs. Vance. "It's such an interesting walk. He's at the Madison Square."
"I'll be glad to go," said Carrie. "How much will we have to pay for seats?"
"Not more than a dollar," said Mrs. Vance.
The latter departed, and at one o'clock reappeared, stunningly arrayed in a dark-blue walking dress, with a nobby hat to match. Carrie had gotten herself up charmingly enough, but this woman pained her by contrast. She seemed to have so many dainty little things which Carrie had not. There were trinkets of gold, an elegant green leather purse set with her initials, a fancy handkerchief, exceedingly rich in design, and the like. Carrie felt that she needed more and better clothes to compare with this woman, and that any one looking at the two would pick Mrs. Vance for her raiment alone. It was a trying, though rather unjust thought, for Carrie had now developed an equally pleasing figure, and had grown in comeliness until she was a thoroughly attractive type of her colour of beauty. There was some difference in the clothing of the two, both of quality and age, but this difference was not especially noticeable. It served, however, to augment Carrie's dissatisfaction with her state.
The walk down Broadway, then as now, was one of the remarkable features of the city. There gathered, before the matinee and afterwards, not only all the pretty women who love a showy parade, but the men who love to gaze upon and admire them. It was a very imposing procession of pretty faces and fine clothes. Women appeared in their very best hats, shoes, and gloves, and walked arm in arm on their way to the fine shops or theatres strung along from Fourteenth to Thirty-fourth streets. Equally the men paraded with the very latest they could afford. A tailor might have secured hints on suit measurements, a shoemaker on proper lasts and colours, a hatter on hats. It was literally true that if a lover of fine clothes secured a new suit, it was sure to have its first airing on Broadway. So true and well understood was this fact, that several years later a popular song, detailing this and other facts concerning the afternoon parade on matinee days, and entitled "What Right Has He on Broadway?" was published, and had quite a vogue about the music-halls of the city.
In all her stay in the city, Carrie had never heard of this showy parade; had never even been on Broadway when it was taking place. On the other hand, it was a familiar thing to Mrs. Vance, who not only knew of it as an entity, but had often been in it, going purposely to see and be seen, to create a stir with her beauty and dispel any tendency to fall short in dressiness by contrasting herself with the beauty and fashion of the town.
Carrie stepped along easily enough after they got out of the car at Thirty-fourth Street, but soon fixed her eyes upon the lovely company which swarmed by and with them as they proceeded. She noticed suddenly that Mrs. Vance's manner had rather stiffened under the gaze of handsome men and elegantly dressed ladies, whose glances were not modified by any rules of propriety. To stare seemed the proper and natural thing. Carrie found herself stared at and ogled. Men in flawless top-coats, high hats, and silver-headed walking sticks elbowed near and looked too often into conscious eyes. Ladies rustled by in dresses of stiff cloth, shedding affected smiles and perfume. Carrie noticed among them the sprinkling of goodness and the heavy percentage of vice. The rouged and powdered cheeks and lips, the scented hair, the large, misty, and languorous eye, were common enough. With a start she awoke to find that she was in fashion's crowd, on parade in a show place -- and such a show place! Jewellers' windows gleamed along the path with remarkable frequency. Florist shops, furriers, haberdashers, confectioners -- all followed in rapid succession. The street was full of coaches. Pompous doormen in immense coats, shiny brass belts and buttons, waited in front of expensive salesrooms. Coachmen in tan boots, white tights, and blue jackets waited obsequiously for the mistresses of carriages who were shopping inside. The whole street bore the flavour of riches and show, and Carrie felt that she was not of it. She could not, for the life of her, assume the attitude and smartness of Mrs. Vance, who, in her beauty, was all assurance. She could only imagine that it must be evident to many that she was the less handsomely dressed of the two. It cut her to the quick, and she resolved that she would not come here again until she looked better. At the same time she longed to feel the delight of parading here as an equal. Ah, then she would be happy!
这个城市和他自己的处境影响着赫斯渥，也同样影响着嘉莉，她总是带着一颗极其善良的心接受命运的安排。纽约这地方，虽然她最初表示过不喜欢，但很快就使她十分感兴趣了。这里的空气清新，街道更加宽阔，还有人们之间那特有的互不关心，这一切都给她留下了深刻的印象。她从未见过像她住的这么小的公寓，可是很快就喜欢上了它。新家具显得非常豪华，赫斯渥亲手布置的餐具柜闪闪发亮。每个房间的家具都很相宜，在所谓的客厅或者前房间里还安放了一架钢琴，因为嘉莉说她想学钢琴。她还雇用了一个女仆，而且自己在家务的料理和知识方面也进步很快。她生平第一次感到有了归宿，自认为在社会上人们的心目中取得了一定的合法地位。她的想法既愉快又天真。有很长一段时间，她一心只顾着布置纽约的住房，对一幢楼里同住十户人家，大家却形同陌路，互不关心，感到十分奇怪。使她惊异的还有港湾内那几百条船的汽笛声--有雾的时候，驶过长岛海峡的汽轮和渡船发出的漫长而低沉的汽笛声。这些声音来自大海，就凭这一点，它们就很奇妙。她常常从西面的窗口眺望赫德森河以及河两岸迅速建设起来的大都市的景色。可琢磨的东西很多，足够她欣赏个一年半载也不会感到乏味。 另外，赫斯渥对她的痴情也使她大为着迷。他虽然心里很烦恼，却从不向她诉苦。他风度依旧，神气十足，从容不迫地对付新的处境，为嘉莉的癖好和成就感到高兴。每天晚上他都准时回家吃饭，觉得家里的小餐室可爱之极。在某种程度上，房间窄小反倒显得更加华丽。它看上去应有尽有。铺着白色台布的餐桌上摆着精美的盘子，点着四叉灯台，每盏灯上安着一只红色灯罩。嘉莉和女仆一起烧的牛排和猪排都很不错，有时也吃吃罐头食品。嘉莉学着做饼干，不久就能自己忙乎出一盘松软可口的小点心来。
就这样度过了第二、第三和第四个月。冬天来了，随之便觉得待在家里最好，因此也不大谈起看戏的事。赫斯渥尽力支付一切费用，丝毫不露声色。他假装正在把钱用来再投资，扩大生意，以便将来有更多的收入。他乐于尽量节省自己的衣服费用，也难得提出为嘉莉添置些什么。第一个冬天就这样过去了。
第二年，赫斯渥经营的生意在收入上真的有所增加。他能每月固定地拿到他预计的１５０块钱。不幸的是，这时嘉莉已经得出了一些结论，而他也结交了几个朋友。
嘉莉天性被动、容忍，而不是主动、进取，因此她安于现状。她的处境似乎还很令她满意。有时候，他们会一起去看看戏，偶尔也会应时令去海边以及纽约各处玩玩，但他们没有结交朋友。赫斯渥对她的态度自然不再是彬彬有礼，而是一种随便的亲密态度。没有误会，没有明显的意见分岐。事实上，没有钱，也没有朋友来拜访，他过一种既不会引起嫉妒也不会招惹非议的生活。嘉莉很同情他的努力，也不去想自己缺少的在芝加哥时所享受的那种娱乐生活。纽约，作为一个整体，和她的公寓似乎暂时还令人心满意足。
然而，如上所述，随着赫斯渥生意的兴隆，他开始结交朋友。他也开始为自己添置衣服。他自认为家庭生活对他十分珍贵，但又认为他偶尔不回家吃晚饭也是可以的。他第一次不回家吃饭时，让人带信说他有事耽搁了。嘉莉一个人吃了饭，希望不会再发生同样的事情。第二次，他也让人带了话，但是已临近开饭的时间。第三次，他干脆全忘了，事后才解释了一番。这类事情，每隔几个月就会有一次。
“你去哪里了，乔治？”他第一次没回来吃饭以后，嘉莉问。
“在店里走不开，”他亲切地说，"我得整理一些帐目。”“很遗憾，你不能回家，”她和气地说，“我准备了这么丰盛的晚饭。”第二次，他找了个同样的借口，但是第三次，嘉莉心里觉得这事有点反常了。
“我没法回家，”那天晚上回来的时候，他说，“我太忙了。”“难道你不能给我捎个信吗？”嘉莉问。
“我是想这样做的，”他说，“可是你知道，我忘了，等我想起来时，已经太晚了，捎信也没用了。”“可惜了我这么好的一顿晚饭！”嘉莉说。
正是这个时候，通过对嘉莉的观察，他开始认为她的性情属于那种地地道道的家庭主妇型。这一年之后，他真地以为她主要的生活内容在料理家务上得到了自然的表现。尽管他在芝加哥看过她的演出，而在过去的一年中，他看到她由于受到他造成的条件的限制，只是与这套公寓和他打交道，没有结交任何朋友或伙伴，但他还是得出了这个奇怪的结论。随之而来的是对娶了这么一位知足的太太感到心满意足，而这种心满意足又产生其必然的后果。这就是，既然他认为她满足了，就觉得他的职责只是提供能使她这样满足的东西。他提供了家具、装修、食品以及必要的衣物。而要给她娱乐，要带她到外边阳光灿烂富丽堂皇的生活中去之类的想法却越来越少。外面的世界吸引着他，但是他没有想到她也愿意一起去闯荡。有一次，他一个人去看戏。另一次，他和两个新朋友晚上在一起打牌。他在经济上又开始羽毛丰满了，因而他又打扮得漂漂亮亮地出入公共场所。只是这一切远不及他在芝加哥时那么招遥他避而不去那些容易碰到他过去的熟人的娱乐场所。
这时，通过各种感官印象，嘉莉开始感觉到了这一点。她不是那种会被他的行为弄得心烦意乱的人。她并不十分爱他，也就不会因嫉妒而不安。实际上，她一点儿也不嫉妒。对她这种心平气和的态度，赫斯渥感到很高兴，而他本来还应该对此适当地加以考虑的。当他不回家的时候，她也不觉得是件什么大不了的事情。她认为他应该享有男人们通常的乐趣--和人聊聊天，找个地方休息一下，或与朋友商量商量问题。虽然她很愿意他能这样自得其乐，但她不喜欢自己被冷落。不过，她的处境似乎还过得去。她真正察觉到的，是赫斯渥有些不同了。
他们在七十八街住的第二年的某个时候，嘉莉家对面的那套公寓空了出来，搬进来一个非常漂亮的年轻女人和她的丈夫。嘉莉后来结识了这一对人。这完全是公寓的结构促成的。两套公寓之间有一处是由升降送货机连在一起的。这个实用的电梯把燃料、食品之类的东西从楼底送上来，又把垃圾和废物送下去。电梯由同一层楼的两户人家公用，也就是说，每家都有一扇小门通向它。
倘若住在两套公寓里的人同时应门房的哨声而出，打开电梯小门时，他们就会面对面地站着。一天早晨，当嘉莉去拿报纸时，那个新搬来的人，一个大约２３岁的肤色浅黑的漂亮女人，也在那里拿报纸。她穿着睡袍，披着晨衣，头发很乱，但是看上去很可爱、很友善，嘉莉立刻对她有了好感。新搬来的人只是害羞地笑了一笑，但是这就够了。嘉莉觉得自己很想结识她，而对方的心里也产生了同样的想法，她欣赏嘉莉那张天真的脸。
“隔壁搬进来的女人真是个大美人，”嘉莉在早餐桌上对赫斯渥说。
“他们是什么人？”赫斯渥问。
“我不知道，”嘉莉答道。“门铃上的姓氏是万斯。他们家里有人钢琴弹得很好。我猜一定是她。”“哦，在这个城市里，你永远搞不清邻居是什么样的人，对吧？”赫斯渥说，表达了纽约人对邻居的通常看法。
“想想看，”嘉莉说，“我在这幢房子里和另外九户人家一起住了一年多，可是我一个人都不认识。这家人搬到这里已有一个多月了，可是在今天早晨之前，我谁也没见过。”“这样也好，”赫斯渥说，“你根本不知道你会认识些什么样的人。他们中的有些人可不是什么好东西。”“我也这么想，"嘉莉附和着说。
谈话换了别的话题，嘉莉就没再想这件事了。直到一两天后，她出去上市场的时候，遇见万斯太太从外面进来。后者认出了她，点了点头。嘉莉也报以一笑。这样就有了相识的可能。
要是这一次一点都没认出来，就不会有以后的交往了。
以后的几个星期里，嘉莉再也没有见过万斯太太。但是透过两家前房间之间的薄薄的隔墙，她听到她弹琴，很喜欢她选的那些愉快的曲子及其精彩的演奏。她自己只能弹弹一般的曲子，在她听来，万斯太太演奏的丰富多采的乐曲，已经接近伟大的艺术了。至今她所耳闻目睹的一切--仅仅只是些零碎的印象--表明这家人颇有些高雅，而且生活富裕。因此对今后可能发展的友谊，嘉莉已经作好了准备。
一天，嘉莉家的门铃响了，在厨房里的仆人按动电钮，打开了一楼总出入口的前门。嘉莉等在三楼自己家的门口，看是谁来拜访她。上来的是万斯太太。
“请你原谅，”她说，“我刚才出去时忘了带大门的钥匙，所以就想到按你家的门铃。”这幢楼的别的住户，每逢出门忘了带大门钥匙的时候，大家都这么做。只是谁也不为此而道歉。
“没关系，”嘉莉说，“我很高兴你按我家的门铃。我有时也这么做。”“今天天气真好，是吗？”万斯太太说，停留了一会儿。
这样，又经过几次初步的接触，便正式开始了相互的交往。嘉莉发现年轻的万斯太太是个令人愉快的朋友。
有几次，嘉莉到她家去串门，也在自己家里招待了她。两家的公寓看上去都不错，不过万斯家布置得更加豪华。
“我想请你今天晚上过来，见见我的丈夫，”她们开始熟悉后不久，万斯太太说。“他想见见你。你会打牌，对吗？”“会一点儿，”嘉莉说。
“那好，我们来打打牌。要是你丈夫回家的话，带他一起过来。”“他今晚不回来吃饭，”嘉莉说。
“那么，等他回来时，我们来叫他。”
嘉莉答应了，那天晚上见到了大腹便便的万斯。他比赫斯渥小几岁。他那看似美满的婚姻，多半是因为他有钱，而不是因为他有副好长相。他第一眼看到嘉莉，就对她产生了好感。
他刻意表现得很和气，教她玩一种新牌，和她谈到纽约及其各种娱乐。万斯太太在钢琴上弹了几首曲子。最后赫斯渥来了。
“我很高兴见到你，”当嘉莉介绍他时，他对万斯太太说，大大显示了曾经使嘉莉着迷的往日的风度。
“你是不是以为你的太太逃走了？”万斯先生在介绍时伸出手来说。
“我还以为她可能找到了一个更好的丈夫，”赫斯渥说。
这时，他把注意力转向了万斯太太，刹那间，嘉莉又看见了有段时间她下意识地感到在赫斯渥的身上不复存在的东西--他所擅长的随机应变和阿谀奉承。她还发现自己穿得不够体面，比起万斯太太来差得太远。这些已不再是模糊的想法。她看清了自己的处境。她觉得生活越来越乏味，而且为此感到忧愁。昔日那种助人向前，激人向上的忧郁感又回来了。
那个充满向往的嘉莉在悄悄地提醒她，该考虑自己的前途了。
这种觉醒并没有立即产生什么结果，因为嘉莉缺少主动精神。但是尽管如此，她似乎总是很能适应变化的潮流，擅于投身其中，随波逐流。赫斯渥什么也没有觉察到。他没有感觉到嘉莉注意到的鲜明的对比。他甚至连她那忧郁的眼神都没觉察到。最糟糕的是，她现在开始觉得家里寂寞，要找非常喜欢她的万斯太太作伴。
“我们今天下午去看场戏吧，”一天早晨，万斯太太走进嘉莉家说，身上还穿着起床时穿的一件柔软的粉色晨衣。赫斯渥和万斯大约一小时前就各上其路了。
“好啊，”嘉莉说，注意到万斯太太的外表总是带着那种得欢受宠且爱好打扮的女人的神气。她看上去似乎很受宠爱而且有求必应。“我们去看什么戏呢？”“喔，我很想去看纳特·古德温的演出，”万斯太太说。“我看他的确是个最逗人的演员。报纸说那是一出很好的戏。”“那我们什么时候动身？”嘉莉问。
“我们一点钟动身，从三十四街出去，沿百老汇大街往南走，”万斯太太说。“这样走去很有意思，他在麦迪逊广场演出。”“我很乐意去，”嘉莉说。“戏票要多少钱？”“不到１块钱，”万斯太太说。
万斯太太回去了。到了１点钟又来了。穿着一身深蓝色便于步行的衣服，漂亮极了，还配有一顶时髦的帽子。嘉莉把自己打扮得也够迷人的。但相形之下，这个女人让嘉莉感到痛心。看来她有很多精致的小玩意儿，嘉莉却没有。她有各种小金饰物，一只印有她的姓名缩写的精美的绿皮包，一块图案十分花哨的时髦手帕和一些类似的其它东西。嘉莉觉得自己需要更多更好的衣服才能和这个女人媲美。谁看见她俩都会单凭服饰就选择万斯太太的。这种想法十分恼人，尽管不甚公正，因为嘉莉现在有着同样楚楚动人的身材，出落得越发标致，已经是个绝顶可爱的她那种类型的美人了。两人的衣着，在质量上和新旧上都有些差别，但这些差别并不十分明显。然而，这却增加了嘉莉对自己处境的不满。
漫步百老汇大街，在当时也和现在一样，是这个城市引人注目的特色之一。在日戏开场前和散场后，这里不仅聚集着那些爱卖弄风姿的漂亮女人，还有那些爱看女人、爱欣赏女人的男人。这是一支由漂亮的脸蛋和华丽的衣着组成的队伍，十分壮观。女人们穿戴着自己最好的帽子、鞋子和手套，一路上手挽着手，漫步于那些从十四街到三十四街沿街都是的华丽的商店或戏院。同样，男人们也穿着自己所能买得起的最时新的服装招摇过市。在这里，裁缝可以得到裁剪服装的启发，鞋匠可以了解流行的款式和颜色，帽匠可以知道帽子的行情。如果说一个讲究穿着的人买了一套新装，第一次穿出来一定是在百老汇大街上，这可是一点不假。这个事实千真万确，众所周知。因此，几年之后，还发行了一首流行歌曲，详细地谈到了这一点以及有关上演日戏的下午那种炫耀的场面的其它情况。
歌名叫《他有什么权利待在百老汇大街上？》，歌曲发行后，在纽约的音乐厅里非常风行。
在这个城市待了这么久，嘉莉还从未听说过如此炫耀的场面。当有这种场面出现的时候，她也没去过百老汇大街。然而，对万斯太太来说，这已是家常便饭了。她不仅了解它的全部，而且经常置身其中，特意去看人和被人看，以自己的美貌去引起轰动，将自己与这个城市的时髦的美人相比照，以免在穿着讲究上有任何落伍的趋势。
她们在三十四街下了有轨电车之后，嘉莉颇为自在地朝前走着。可是没过一会儿，她就盯着那些成群地从她们身边走过或是和她们同行的美人们看了起来。她突然发觉万斯太太在众目睽睽之下很有些局促了，那些英俊的男人和穿着高雅的太太们，用肆无忌惮的目光盯着她看，毫无礼貌可言。盯着人看似乎成了正当而自然的事。嘉莉发现也有人在盯着她看，向她送秋波。身穿精美的大衣，头戴大礼帽，手持银头拐杖的男人擦肩而过，而且常常盯着看她那双敏感的眼睛。衣着笔挺的太太们沙沙作响地走过，一路作着笑脸，散发着香味儿。嘉莉注意到她们中间没几个善良之辈，绝大多数都是邪恶之种。
这中间多的是红唇、白面、香发以及迷茫懒散的大眼睛。她蓦地一惊，发现自己正置身于时髦的人群中，在这个炫耀的地方展示自己，而且是如此壮观的地方！珠宝店明亮的橱窗沿途可见。鲜花店、皮草行、男子服饰用品店、糖果店，一家挨着一家。
遍街都是马车。神气十足的看门人，身着宽大的外套，配着闪闪发光的铜钮扣和铜腰带，侍立在高档商店的门前。穿着棕色长统靴、白色紧身裤和蓝色上衣的马车夫，巴结地等候着在店里买东西的女主人。整条大街都是一派富丽堂皇的景象，嘉莉觉得自己并不属于这里。无论如何，她也作不出万斯太太那种姿态和风度来，万斯太太因为自己漂亮，总是信心十足。她所能想到的只是，大家一定会看得很清楚，在她们两人之间，她的打扮较差。这刺痛了她的心。她打定主意，除非打扮得更漂亮些，否则她不再上这里来了。然而同时，她又渴望着能享受一下以同等的身价来这里出出风头的乐趣。啊，那样她就会很幸福了。
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Chapter 32 THE FEAST OF BELSHAZZAR: A SEER TO TRANSLATE
Such feelings as were generated in Carrie by this walk put her in an exceedingly receptive mood for the pathos which followed in the play. The actor whom they had gone to see had achieved his popularity by presenting a mellow type of comedy, in which sufficient sorrow was introduced to lend contrast and relief to humour. For Carrie, as we well know, the stage had a great attraction. She had never forgotten her one histrionic achievement in Chicago. It dwelt in her mind and occupied her consciousness during many long afternoons in which her rocking-chair and her latest novel contributed the only pleasures of her state. Never could she witness a play without having her own ability vividly brought to consciousness. Some scenes made her long to be a part of them -- to give expression to the feelings which she, in the place of the character represented, would feel. Almost invariably she would carry the vivid imaginations away with her and brood over them the next day alone. She lived as much in these things as in the realities which made up her daily life.
It was not often that she came to the play stirred to her heart's core by actualities. To-day a low song of longing had been set singing in her heart by the finery, the merriment, the beauty she had seen. Oh, these women who had passed her by, hundreds and hundreds strong, who were they? Whence came the rich, elegant dresses, the astonishingly coloured buttons, the knick-knacks of silver and gold? Where were these lovely creatures housed? Amid what elegancies of carved furniture, decorated walls, elaborate tapestries did they move? Where were their rich apartments, loaded with all that money could provide? In what stables champed these sleek, nervous horses and rested the gorgeous carriages? Where lounged the richly groomed footmen? Oh, the mansions, the lights, the perfume, the loaded boudoirs and tables! New York must be filled with such bowers, or the beautiful, insolent, supercilious creatures could not be. Some hot-houses held them. It ached her to know that she was not one of them -- that, alas, she had dreamed a dream and it had not come true. She wondered at her own solitude these two years past -- her indifference to the fact that she had never achieved what she had expected.
The play was one of those drawing-room concoctions in which charmingly overdressed ladies and gentlemen suffer the pangs of love and jealousy amid gilded surroundings. Such bon-mots are ever enticing to those who have all their days longed for such material surroundings and have never had them gratified. They have the charm of showing suffering under ideal conditions. Who would not grieve upon a gilded chair? Who would not suffer amid perfumed tapestries, cushioned furniture, and liveried servants? Grief under such circumstances becomes an enticing thing. Carrie longed to be of it. She wanted to take her sufferings, whatever they were, in such a world, or failing that, at least to simulate them under such charming conditions upon the stage. So affected was her mind by what she had seen, that the play now seemed an extraordinarily beautiful thing. She was soon lost in the world it represented, and wished that she might never return. Between the acts she studied the galaxy of matinee attendants in front rows and boxes, and conceived a new idea of the possibilities of New York. She was sure she had not seen it all -- that the city was one whirl of pleasure and delight.
Going out, the same Broadway taught her a sharper lesson. The scene she had witnessed coming down was now augmented and at its height. Such a crush of finery and folly she had never seen. It clinched her convictions concerning her state. She had not lived, could not lay claim to having lived, until something of this had come into her own life. Women were spending money like water; she could see that in every elegant shop she passed. Flowers, candy, jewelry, seemed the principal things in which the elegant dames were interested. And she had scarcely enough pin money to indulge in such outings as this a few times a month.
That night the pretty little flat seemed a commonplace thing. It was not what the rest of the world was enjoying. She saw the servant working at dinner with an indifferent eye. In her mind were running scenes of the play. Particularly she remembered one beautiful actress -- the sweetheart who had been wooed and won. The grace of this woman had won Carrie's heart. Her dresses had been all that art could suggest, her sufferings had been so real. The anguish which she had portrayed Carrie could feel. It was done as she was sure she could do it. There were places in which she could even do better. Hence she repeated the lines to herself. Oh, if she could only have such a part, how broad would be her life! She, too, could act appealingly.
When Hurstwood came, Carrie was moody. She was sitting, rocking and thinking, and did not care to have her enticing imaginations broken in upon; so she said little or nothing.
"What's the matter, Carrie?" said Hurstwood after a time, noticing her quiet, almost moody state.
"Nothing," said Carrie. "I don't feel very well to-night."
"Not sick, are you?" he asked, approaching very close.
"Oh, no," she said, almost pettishly, "I just don't feel very good."
"That's too bad," he said, stepping away and adjusting his vest after his slight bending over. "I was thinking we might go to a show to-night."
"I don't want to go," said Carrie, annoyed that her fine visions should have thus been broken into and driven out of her mind. "I've been to the matinee this afternoon."
"Oh, you have?" said Hurstwood. "What was it?"
"A Gold Mine."
"How was it?"
"Pretty good," said Carrie.
"And you don't want to go again to-night?"
"I don't think I do," she said.
Nevertheless, wakened out of her melancholia and called to the dinner table, she changed her mind. A little food in the stomach does wonders. She went again, and in so doing temporarily recovered her equanimity. The great awakening blow had, however, been delivered. As often as she might recover from these discontented thoughts now, they would occur again. Time and repetition -- ah, the wonder of it! The dropping water and the solid stone -- how utterly it yields at last!
Not long after this matinee experience -- perhaps a month -- Mrs. Vance invited Carrie to an evening at the theater with them. She heard Carrie say that Hurstwood was not coming home to dinner.
"Why don't you come with us? Don't get dinner for yourself. We're going down to Sherry's for dinner and then over to the Lyceum. Come along with us."
"I think I will," answered Carrie.
She began to dress at three o'clock for her departure at half-past five for the noted dining-room which was then crowding Delmonico's for position in society. In this dressing Carrie showed the influence of her association with the dashing Mrs. Vance. She had constantly had her attention called by the latter to novelties in everything which pertains to a woman's apparel.
"Are you going to get such and such a hat?" or, "Have you seen the new gloves with the oval pearl buttons?" were but sample phrases out of a large selection.
"The next time you get a pair of shoes, dearie," said Mrs. Vance, "get button, with thick soles and patent-leather tips. They're all the rage this fall."
"I will," said Carrie.
"Oh, dear, have you seen the new shirtwaists at Altman's? They have some of the loveliest patterns. I saw one there that I know would look stunning on you. I said so when I saw it."
Carrie listened to these things with considerable interest, for they were suggested with more of friendliness than is usually common between pretty women. Mrs. Vance liked Carrie's stable good-nature so well that she really took pleasure in suggesting to her the latest things.
"Why don't you get yourself one of those nice serge skirts they're selling at Lord & Taylor's?" she said one day. "They're the circular style, and they're going to be worn from now on. A dark blue one would look so nice on you."
Carrie listened with eager ears. These things never came up between her and Hurstwood. Nevertheless, she began to suggest one thing and another, which Hurstwood agreed to without any expression of opinion. He noticed the new tendency on Carrie's part, and finally, hearing much of Mrs. Vance and her delightful ways, suspected whence the change came. He was not inclined to offer the slightest objection so soon, but he felt that Carrie's wants were expanding. This did not appeal to him exactly, but he cared for her in his own way, and so the thing stood. Still, there was something in the details of the transactions which caused Carrie to feel that her requests were not a delight to him. He did not enthuse over the purchases. This led her to believe that neglect was creeping in, and so another small wedge was entered.
Nevertheless, one of the results of Mrs. Vance's suggestions was the fact that on this occasion Carrie was dressed somewhat to her own satisfaction. She had on her best, but there was comfort in the thought that if she must confine herself to a best, it was neat and fitting. She looked the well-groomed woman of twenty-one, and Mrs. Vance praised her, which brought colour to her plump cheeks and a noticeable brightness into her large eyes. It was threatening rain, and Mr. Vance, at his wife's request, had called a coach.
"Your husband isn't coming?" suggested Mr. Vance, as he met Carrie in his little parlour.
"No, he said he wouldn't be home for dinner."
"Better leave a little note for him, telling him where we are. He might turn up."
"I will," said Carrie, who had not thought of it before.
"Tell him we'll be at Sherry's until eight o'clock. He knows, though, I guess."
Carrie crossed the hall with rustling skirts, and scrawled the note, gloves on. When she returned a newcomer was in the Vance flat.
"Mrs. Wheeler, let me introduce Mr. Ames, a cousin of mine," said Mrs. Vance. "He's going along with us, aren't you, Bob?"
"I'm very glad to meet you," said Ames, bowing politely to Carrie.
The latter caught in a glance the dimensions of a very stalwart figure. She also noticed that he was smooth-shaven, good looking, and young, but nothing more.
"Mr. Ames is just down in New York for a few days," put in Vance, "and we're trying to show him around a little."
"Oh, are you?" said Carrie, taking another glance at the newcomer.
"Yes; I am just on here from Indianapolis for a week or so," said young Ames, seating himself on the edge of a chair to wait while Mrs. Vance completed the last touches of her toilet.
"I guess you find New York quite a thing to see, don't you?" said Carrie, venturing something to avoid a possible deadly silence.
"It is rather large to get around in a week," answered Ames, pleasantly.
He was an exceedingly genial soul, this young man, and wholly free of affectation. It seemed to Carrie he was as yet only overcoming the last traces of the bashfulness of youth. He did not seem apt at conversation, but he had the merit of being well dressed and wholly courageous. Carrie felt as if it were not going to be hard to talk to him.
"Well, I guess we're ready now. The coach is outside."
"Come on, people," said Mrs. Vance, coming in smiling. "Bob, you'll have to look after Mrs. Wheeler."
"I'll try to," said Bob smiling, and edging closer to Carrie. "You won't need much watching, will you?" he volunteered, in a sort of ingratiating and help-me-out kind of way.
"Not very, I hope," said Carrie.
They descended the stairs, Mrs. Vance offering suggestions, and climbed into the open coach.
"All right," said Vance, slamming the coach door, and the conveyance rolled away.
"What is it we're going to see?" asked Ames.
"Sothern," said Vance, "in 'Lord Chumley.'"
"Oh, he is so good!" said Mrs. Vance. "He's just the funniest man."
"I notice the papers praise it," said Ames.
"I haven't any doubt," put in Vance, "but we'll all enjoy it very much."
Ames had taken a seat beside Carrie, and accordingly he felt it his bounden duty to pay her some attention. He was interested to find her so young a wife, and so pretty, though it was only a respectful interest. There was nothing of the dashing lady's man about him. He had respect for the married state, and thought only of some pretty marriageable girls in Indianapolis.
"Are you a born New Yorker?" asked Ames of Carrie.
"Oh, no; I've only been here for two years."
"Oh, well, you've had time to see a great deal of it, anyhow."
"I don't seem to have," answered Carrie. "It's about as strange to me as when I first came here."
"You're not from the West, are you?"
"Yes. I'm from Wisconsin," she answered.
"Well, it does seem as if most people in this town haven't been here so very long. I hear of lots of Indiana people in my line who are here."
"What is your line?" asked Carrie.
"I'm connected with an electrical company," said the youth.
Carrie followed up this desultory conversation with occasional interruptions from the Vances. Several times it became general and partially humorous, and in that manner the restaurant was reached.
Carrie had noticed the appearance of gayety and pleasure-seeking in the streets which they were following. Coaches were numerous, pedestrians many, and in Fifty-ninth Street the street cars were crowded. At Fifty-ninth Street and Fifth Avenue a blaze of lights from several new hotels which bordered the Plaza Square gave a suggestion of sumptuous hotel life. Fifth Avenue, the home of the wealthy, was noticeably crowded with carriages, and gentlemen in evening dress. At Sherry's an imposing doorman opened the coach door and helped them out. Young Ames held Carrie's elbow as he helped her up the steps. They entered the lobby already swarming with patrons, and then, after divesting themselves of their wraps, went into a sumptuous dining-room.
In all Carrie's experience she had never seen anything like this. In the whole time she had been in New York Hurstwood's modified state had not permitted his bringing her to such a place. There was an almost indescribable atmosphere about it which convinced the newcomer that this was the proper thing. Here was the place where the matter of expense limited the patrons to the moneyed or pleasure-loving class. Carrie had read of it often in the "Morning" and "Evening World." She had seen notices of dances, parties, balls, and suppers at Sherry's. The Misses So-and-so would give a party on Wednesday evening at Sherry's. Young Mr. So-and-so would entertain a party of friends at a private luncheon on the sixteenth, at Sherry's. The common run of conventional, perfunctory notices of the doings of society, which she could scarcely refrain from scanning each day, had given her a distinct idea of the gorgeousness and luxury of this wonderful temple of gastronomy. Now, at last, she was really in it. She had come up the imposing steps, guarded by the large and portly doorman. She had seen the lobby, guarded by another large and portly gentleman, and been waited upon by uniformed youths who took care of canes, overcoats, and the like. Here was the splendid dining-chamber, all decorated and aglow, where the wealthy ate. Ah, how fortunate was Mrs. Vance; young, beautiful, and well off -- at least, sufficiently so to come here in a coach. What a wonderful thing it was to be rich.
Vance led the way through lanes of shining tables, at which were seated parties of two, three, four, five, or six. The air of assurance and dignity about it all was exceedingly noticeable to the novitiate. Incandescent lights, the reflection of their glow in polished glasses, and the shine of gilt upon the walls, combined into one tone of light which it requires minutes of complacent observation to separate and take particular note of. The white shirt fronts of the gentlemen, the bright costumes of the ladies, diamonds, jewels, fine feathers -- all were exceedingly noticeable.
Carrie walked with an air equal to that of Mrs. Vance, and accepted the seat which the head waiter provided for her. She was keenly aware of all the little things that were done -- the little genuflections and attentions of the waiters and head waiter which Americans pay for. The air with which the latter pulled out each chair, and the wave of the hand with which he motioned them to be seated, were worth several dollars in themselves.
Once seated, there began that exhibition of showy, wasteful, and unwholesome gastronomy as practised by wealthy Americans, which is the wonder and astonishment of true culture and dignity the world over. The large bill of fare held an array of dishes sufficient to feed an army, sidelined with prices which made reasonable expenditure a ridiculous impossibility -- an order of soup a fifty cents or a dollar, with a dozen kinds to choose from; oysters in forty styles and at sixty cents the half-dozen; entrees, fish, and meats at prices which would house one over night in an average hotel. One dollar fifty and two dollars seemed to be the most common figures upon this most tastefully printed bill of fare.
Carrie noticed this, and in scanning it the price of spring chicken carried her back to that other bill of fare and far different occasion when, for the first time, she sat with Drouet in a good restaurant in Chicago. It was only momentary -- a sad note as out of an old song -- and then it was gone. But in that flash was seen the other Carrie -- poor, hungry, drifting at her wits' ends, and all Chicago a cold and closed world, from which she only wandered because she could not find work.
On the walls were designs in colour, square spots of robin's-egg blue, set in ornate frames of gilt, whose corners were elaborate mouldings of fruit and flowers, with fat cupids hovering in angelic comfort. On the ceilings were coloured traceries with more gilt, leading to a centre where spread a cluster of lights -- incandescent globes mingled with glittering prisms and stucco tendrils of gilt. The floor was of a reddish hue, waxed and polished, and in every direction were mirrors -- tall, brilliant, bevel-edged mirrors -- reflecting and re-reflecting forms, faces, and candelabra a score and a hundred times.
The tables were not so remarkable in themselves, and yet the imprint of Sherry upon the napery, the name of Tiffany upon the silverware, the name of Haviland upon the china, and over all the glow of the small, red-shaded candelabra and the reflected tints of the walls on garments and faces, made them seem remarkable. Each waiter added an air of exclusiveness and elegance by the manner in which he bowed, scraped, touched, and trifled with things. The exclusively personal attention which he devoted to each one, standing half bent, ear to one side, elbows akimbo, saying: "Soup -- green turtle, yes. One portion, yes. Oysters -- certainly -- half-dozen -- yes. Asparagus. Olives -- yes."
It would be the same with each one, only Vance essayed to order for all, inviting counsel and suggestions. Carrie studied the company with open eyes. So this was high life in New York. It was so that the rich spent their days and evenings. Her poor little mind could not rise above applying each scene to all society. Every fine lady must be in the crowd on Broadway in the afternoon, in the theatre at the matinee, in the coaches and dining-halls at night. It must be glow and shine everywhere, with coaches waiting, and footmen attending, and she was out of it all. In two long years she had never even been in such a place as this.
Vance was in his element here, as Hurstwood would have been in former days. He ordered freely of soup, oysters, roast meats, and side dishes, and had several bottles of wine brought, which were set down beside the table in a wicker basket.
Ames was looking away rather abstractedly at the crowd and showed an interesting profile to Carrie. His forehead was high, his nose rather large and strong, his chin moderately pleasing. He had a good, wide, well-shaped mouth, and his dark-brown hair was parted slightly on one side. He seemed to have the least touch of boyishness to Carrie, and yet he was a man full grown.
"Do you know," he said, turning back to Carrie, after his reflection, "I sometimes think it is a shame for people to spend so much money this way."
Carrie looked at him a moment with the faintest touch of surprise at his seriousness. He seemed to be thinking about something over which she had never pondered.
"Do you?" she answered, interestedly.
"Yes," he said, "they pay so much more than these things are worth. They put on so much show."
"I don't know why people shouldn't spend when they have it," said Mrs. Vance.
"It doesn't do any harm," said Vance, who was still studying the bill of fare, though he had ordered.
Ames was looking away again, and Carrie was again looking at his forehead. To her he seemed to be thinking about strange things. As he studied the crowd his eye was mild.
"Look at that woman's dress over there," he said, again turning to Carrie, and nodding in a direction.
"Where?" said Carrie, following his eyes.
"Over there in the corner -- way over. Do you see that brooch?"
"Isn't it large?" said Carrie.
"One of the largest clusters of jewels I have ever seen," said Ames.
"It is, isn't it?" said Carrie. She felt as if she would like to be agreeable to this young man, and also there came with it, or perhaps preceded it, the slightest shade of a feeling that he was better educated than she was -- that his mind was better. He seemed to look it, and the saving grace in Carrie was that she could understand that people could be wiser. She had seen a number of people in her life who reminded her of what she had vaguely come to think of as scholars. This strong young man beside her, with his clear, natural look, seemed to get a hold of things which she did not quite understand, but approved of. It was fine to be so, as a man, she thought.
The conversation changed to a book that was having its vogue at the time -- "Moulding a Maiden," by Albert Ross. Mrs. Vance had read it. Vance had seen it discussed in some of the papers.
"A man can make quite a strike writing a book," said Vance. "I notice this fellow Ross is very much talked about." He was looking at Carrie as he spoke.
"I hadn't heard of him," said Carrie, honestly.
"Oh, I have," said Mrs. Vance. "He's written lots of things. This last story is pretty good."
"He doesn't amount to much," said Ames.
Carrie turned her eyes toward him as to an oracle.
"His stuff is nearly as bad as 'Dora Thorne,'" concluded Ames.
Carrie felt this as a personal reproof. She read "Dora Thorne," or had a great deal in the past. It seemed only fair to her, but she supposed that people thought it very fine. Now this clear-eyed, fine-headed youth, who looked something like a student to her, made fun of it. It was poor to him, not worth reading. She looked down, and for the first time felt the pain of not understanding.
Yet there was nothing sarcastic or supercilious in the way Ames spoke. He had very little of that in him. Carrie felt that it was just kindly thought of a high order -- the right thing to think, and wondered what else was right, according to him. He seemed to notice that she listened and rather sympathised with him, and from now on he talked mostly to her.
As the waiter bowed and scraped about, felt the dishes to see if they were hot enough, brought spoons and forks, and did all those little attentive things calculated to impress the luxury of the situation upon the diner, Ames also leaned slightly to one side and told her of Indianapolis in an intelligent way. He really had a very bright mind, which was finding its chief development in electrical knowledge. His sympathies for other forms of information, however, and for types of people, were quick and warm. The red glow on his head gave it a sandy tinge and put a bright glint in his eye. Carrie noticed all these things as he leaned toward her and felt exceedingly young. This man was far ahead of her. He seemed wiser than Hurstwood, saner and brighter than Drouet. He seemed innocent and clean, and she thought that he was exceedingly pleasant. She noticed, also, that his interest in her was a far-off one. She was not in his life, nor any of the things that touched his life, and yet now, as he spoke of these things, they appealed to her.
"I shouldn't care to be rich," he told her, as the dinner proceeded and the supply of food warmed up his sympathies; "not rich enough to spend my money this way."
"Oh, wouldn't you?" said Carrie, the, to her, new attitude forcing itself distinctly upon her for the first time.
"No," he said. "What good would it do? A man doesn't need this sort of thing to be happy."
Carrie thought of this doubtfully; but, coming from him, it had weight with her.
"He probably could be happy," she thought to herself, "all alone. He's so strong."
Mr. and Mrs. Vance kept up a running fire of interruptions, and these impressive things by Ames came at odd moments. They were sufficient, however, for the atmosphere that went with this youth impressed itself upon Carrie without words. There was something in him, or the world he moved in, which appealed to her. He reminded her of scenes she had seen on the stage -- the sorrows and sacrifices that always went with she knew not what. He had taken away some of the bitterness of the contrast between this life and her life, and all by a certain calm indifference which concerned only him.
As they went out, he took her arm and helped her into the coach, and then they were off again, and so to the show.
During the acts Carrie found herself listening to him very attentively. He mentioned things in the play which she most approved of -- things which swayed her deeply.
"Don't you think it rather fine to be an actor?" she asked once.
"Yes, I do," he said, "to be a good one. I think the theatre a great thing."
Just this little approval set Carrie's heart bounding. Ah, if she could only be an actress -- a good one! This man was wise -- he knew -- and he approved of it. If she were a fine actress, such men as he would approve of her. She felt that he was good to speak as he had, although it did not concern her at all. She did not know why she felt this way.
At the close of the show it suddenly developed that he was not going back with them.
"Oh, aren't you?" said Carrie, with an unwarrantable feeling.
"Oh, no," he said; "I'm stopping right around here in Thirty-third Street."
Carrie could not say anything else, but somehow this development shocked her. She had been regretting the wane of a pleasant evening, but she had thought there was a half-hour more. Oh, the half-hours, the minutes of the world; what miseries and griefs are crowded into them!
She said good-bye with feigned indifference. What matter could it make? Still, the coach seemed lorn.
When she went into her own flat she had this to think about. She did not know whether she would ever see this man any more. What difference could it make -- what difference could it make?
Hurstwood had returned, and was already in bed. His clothes were scattered loosely about. Carrie came to the door and saw him, then retreated. She did not want to go in yet a while. She wanted to think. It was disagreeable to her.
Back in the dining-room she sat in her chair and rocked. Her little hands were folded tightly as she thought. Through a fog of longing and conflicting desires she was beginning to see. Oh, ye legions of hope and pity -- of sorrow and pain! She was rocking, and beginning to see.
这番漫步在嘉莉心中所引起的百般感受，使得她在接着看戏的时候的心情极易于接受戏中的伤感情调。她们去看的演员，以表演轻松喜剧而闻名，这种剧中加进了足够的伤感成分，形成和幽默的对照及调剂。正如我们十分了解的那样，舞台对于嘉莉有着巨大的吸引力。她从未忘记过她在芝加哥的那一次成功的演出。在那些漫长的下午，当她唯一的消遣是坐在摇椅上，看最新出版的小说时，那次演出便萦绕在她的心头，占满了她的脑海。每当她看戏时，她自己的才能就会栩栩如生地浮现在脑海里。有几场戏使得她渴望能在其中扮演一个角色，将她自己处在那个角色的地位所感受到的感情表现出来。她几乎总是要把那些生动的想象带回去，第二天独自加以琢磨。她生活在想象中，就如同生活在日常生活的现实中。 她在看戏之前被现实生活搅得心神不宁，这种情况还不常出现。可是今天，在看到那些华丽的服饰，欢乐的场面和那些美人之后，她的心里轻轻地唱起了一支渴望之歌。啊，这些从她身边走过的成百上千的女人们，她们是些什么人？这些富丽的高雅的服装、五光十色的钮扣和金银小饰物，它们是从哪里来的？这些美人儿住在什么地方？她们生活在什么样的优雅环境之中，有精雕细刻的家具，装璜华丽的墙壁，还有五彩缤纷的挂毯？她们的那些凡是金钱能买到的东西都应有尽有的豪华公寓在哪里？什么样的马厩喂养着这些漂亮机灵的马儿，停放着这些豪华的马车？那些衣着华丽的下人在哪里闲逛？啊，那些高楼大厦、华灯、香水、藏金收银的闺房还有摆满山珍海味的餐桌！纽约一定到处都有这样的闺房，否则哪来那么些美丽、傲慢、目空一切的佳人。有暖房培育着她们。让她感到痛心的是，她现在知道自己不是她们中的一员--天哪，她做了一个梦却未成真。她对自己两年来所过的寂寞生活感到惊讶--她居然会对没有实现原来的期望无动于衷。
这出戏是那种根据有闲阶层的人在客厅里闲谈的资料编写的作品，戏中那些盛装的漂亮的小姐、太太和绅士们，在金碧辉煌的环境之中，遭受着爱情和嫉妒的折磨。对于那些终日渴望着这样的物质环境但却永远得不到满足的人，这种轻松戏剧始终具有魅力。它们的魅力在于表现了什么是在理想环境中的受苦。谁不愿意坐在镀金的椅子上伤心呢？谁不愿意在散发着香味的挂毯、铺有座垫的家具和身穿制服的仆人之间受苦呢？在这种环境中感到悲伤便成了一件诱人的事。嘉莉渴望能置身其中。她真想自己能在这样的世界里受苦，不管是什么样的苦都行，要是做不到这一点，至少能在舞台上的这种迷人的环境中模拟一番。她刚才的所见所闻极大地影响了她的心情，因此，这出戏现在看起来特别的美妙。她很快就沉浸在戏里所描绘的境界之中，真希望就此不再回到现实中来。
在转场的时候，她打量着在前排座位上和包厢里看戏的那些光彩照人的观众，对纽约潜在的种种机会，有了一种新的认识。她肯定自己没有看到纽约的全部，这个城市简直就是一个快乐幸福的旋涡。
从剧院里出来后，还是这条百老汇大街给她上了更为深刻的一课。她来时看到的场面现在更为壮观，达到了高潮。她可从未见过如此华丽挥霍的盛况。这更加坚定了她对自己的处境的看法。她等于没有生活过，根本谈不上享受过生活，除非她自己的生活中也能出现这种情景。她每走过一家高雅的店铺，都能看到女人们花钱如流水。鲜花、糖果和珠宝看来是那些贵妇人的主要兴趣所在。而她呢，她甚至没有足够的零用钱让自己每个月都能这样出来玩几次。
那天晚上，那套漂亮的小公寓显得十分乏味。这个世界上的其他人可不是住在这种地方的。她冷眼看着仆人在做晚饭。
她的脑海里则闪现着剧中的一场场戏。她尤其记得一个漂亮的女演员--饰演剧中那个被人追求并且得到的情人。这个女人的风姿征服了嘉莉的心。她的服装是完美艺术的体现，她的苦恼又是如此的真实。她所表现的痛苦，嘉莉都能感觉得到。她的表演很出色，嘉莉确信自己也能演得同样出色，有的地方她甚至还能演得更好。于是，她默默地念起了台词。啊，但愿她也能演一个这样的角色，那么她的生活将会拥有多么广阔的空间！而且，她也能演得富有魅力。
嘉莉正在闷闷不乐，赫斯渥回来了。她坐在摇椅里，边摇边想。她不愿意有人打断她的那些诱人的想象，所以她很少说话，或是不说话。
“你怎么啦，嘉莉？”过了一会儿，赫斯渥说，他注意到了她那沉默的、几近忧郁的神态。
“没什么，”嘉莉说。“我今天晚上感觉不太舒服。”“该不是生病了吧？”他走得很近，问道。
“哦，不是，”她说，几乎想发火了，“我只是觉得不大好受。”“那太糟了，“他说着走开了。刚才他稍稍俯了俯身，这时他把背心拉拉好，“我原想今晚我们可以去看场戏的。”“我不想去，”嘉莉说。她心里那些美丽的幻想就这样被打断和打消了，她很为恼火。“我今天下午去看过戏了。”“哦，你去看过戏了？”赫斯渥说，“是出什么戏？”“《一座金矿》。”“戏怎么样？”“很好，”嘉莉说。
“你今晚不想再去看戏了吗？”
“我不想去了，”她说。
可是，当她从忧郁的心境中清醒过来，被叫到饭桌上吃饭时，她改变了主意。胃里进点食也会产生奇迹。她又去看了戏，而且这样一来又暂时恢复了她的平静。然而，那令人觉醒的重重的当头一棒已经击过。现在她能常常从这些不满情绪中恢复过来，这些不满情绪也会常常再现。时间加上重复--啊，这真是奇妙！水滴石穿，石头终究要彻底地认输！
这次看日戏过后不久，大约一个月后，万斯太太邀请嘉莉和他们夫妇一起去看场夜戏。她听嘉莉说起赫斯渥不回来吃晚饭。
“你为什么不和我们一起去呢？别一个人吃晚饭。我们要去谢丽饭店吃饭，然后去莱西姆剧院看戏。和我们一起去吧。”“好吧，我去，"嘉莉回答。
她３点钟就开始打扮，准备５点半动身去那家有名的饭店，当时它正在与德尔莫尼科饭店竞争社会地位。从嘉莉这次的打扮上，可以看得出她和讲究打扮的万斯太太交往的影响。
后者经常不断地提醒她注意有关妇女服饰各个方面的新花样。
“你打算买某某、某某种的帽子吗？”或者“你看见饰有椭圆珠扣的新式手套了吗？”这只是一些例子，类似这样的谈话还很多。
“下次你买鞋时，亲爱的，”万斯太太说，“要买带扣的，有厚实的鞋底、专利鞋扣和漆皮鞋头。今年秋季这种鞋十分时髦。”“好的，”嘉莉说。
“喂，亲爱的，你看到奥尔特曼公司的新款衬衫了吗？那里有几种非常可爱的款式。我在那里看到一种，你穿上一定漂亮极了。我看见时就说了这话。"嘉莉很感兴趣地听着这些话，因为比普通常那些漂亮女人之间的一般谈话，这些话更带有友情。万斯太太非常喜欢嘉莉那始终如一的善良本质，把最时新的东西告诉嘉莉，真是她的一大乐事。
“你为什么不去买一条漂亮的哔叽裙子来穿呢？洛德--泰勒公司有卖的。”一天，她说，“那是圆筒式的，很快就要流行起来。你穿一条藏青色的肯定非常漂亮。”嘉莉认真地聆听着。在她和赫斯渥之间从来没有这类的谈话。不过，她开始提出这样或那样的要求，赫斯渥答应了这些要求，但是并不加以评论。他注意到了嘉莉的新爱好，听到很多有关万斯太太和她那快乐的生活方式的谈论，因而终于猜到了这种变化是从哪里来的。他不想这么快就提出哪怕是最小的异议，可是他感觉到嘉莉的需求在不断地扩大。这并不让他感到高兴，但是他爱她有他独特的方式，所以也就任启发展。可是，在具体的交涉中，有些事情使嘉莉觉得她的要求并不讨他的欢心。对她买的东西，他也不表示热心。这使得她认为自己渐渐受到冷落，因此他们之间又出现了一道小裂痕。
然而，万斯太太的那些建议毕竟有了效果，表现之一就是这一次，嘉莉总算对自己的打扮有些满意了。她穿上了自己最好的衣服。不过她感到欣慰的是，即便她不得不穿上一件自己最好的衣服，但这衣服她穿在身上很相宜，很合身。她看上去是个打扮得体的２１岁的女人，万斯太太称赞了她，这使她那丰满的面颊更加红润，两只大眼睛也更加明亮。看来天要下雨，万斯先生遵照太太的吩咐，叫了一辆马车。
“你丈夫不一起去吗？”万斯先生在他的小客厅里见到嘉莉时，提醒她说。
“不，他说过不回来吃晚饭的。”
“最好给他留张条子，告诉他我们去哪里了。他也许会来。”“好的，”嘉莉说，来此之前她没有想到这一点。
“告诉他，８点钟之前我们在谢丽饭店。我想他知道那个地方。”嘉莉穿过过道，裙子的下摆沙沙作响，连手套都没脱，胡乱草了一张条子。当她回来时，万斯家里来了个新客人。
“惠勒太太，我来给你介绍我的表弟艾姆斯先生，”万斯太太说，“他和我们一起去，是吧，鲍勃？”“见到你很高兴，”艾姆斯说，礼貌地对嘉莉鞠了鞠躬。
嘉莉一眼看到的是一个十分高大健壮的大块头。她还注意到他的脸刮得很光，容貌端正，年纪很轻，但仅此而已。
“艾姆斯先生刚到纽约，要在纽约待几天，”万斯插话说，“我们想带他看一看这里的风光。”“哦，是吗？”嘉莉说，又看了一眼客人。
“是的，我刚从印第安纳波利斯来到这里，准备待一星期左右，”年轻的艾姆斯说，他坐在一张椅子的边缘上，等着万斯太太梳洗打扮完毕。
“我想你已经发现纽约很值得一看，对吗？”嘉莉说，她想找点话说，以避免可能出现的死气沉沉的场面。
“这么大个城市，一星期恐怕逛不完吧，”艾姆斯愉快地答道。
他是个非常和气的人，而且一点也不做作。在嘉莉看来，他现在还只是在力图完全摆脱青年人害羞的痕迹。他看上去不是个善于交谈的人，但衣着讲究和大胆无畏是他的可取之处。嘉莉觉得和他谈话不会是件难事。
“好啦，我看现在我们都准备好了。马车等在外面。”“走吧，伙伴们，”万斯太太笑着进来，说道，“鲍勃，你得照顾一下惠勒太太。”“我会尽力而为，”鲍勃含着笑说，挨近嘉莉一些。“你不需要多照顾的，是吧？”他以一种讨好和求助的口气说，显得很是主动。
“希望不会太多，”嘉莉说。
他们走下楼来，上了敞篷马车，万斯太太一路提着建议。
“行了，”万斯说，砰的一声关上车门，车子就上路了。
“我们去看什么戏？”艾姆斯问。
“索桑演的《查姆列勋爵》，”万斯说。
“哦，他演得好极了！”万斯太太说，“他简直是滑稽透顶。”“我注意到报纸的评价很高，”艾姆斯说。
“我绝对相信，”万斯插话说，“我们都会看得很开心的。”艾姆斯因为坐在嘉莉身边。便觉得自己责无旁贷地要照顾她一些。他饶有兴趣地发现，她这位太太竟然这么年轻，又这么漂亮，不过，这种兴趣完全出于尊重。他毫无那种专事追逐女人的风流男子的派头。他尊重婚姻，心里想的只是印第安纳波利斯的那几位已到了婚龄的漂亮姑娘。
“你是土生土长的纽约人吗？”艾姆斯问嘉莉。
“哦，不是的，我来这里才两年。”
“哦，是这样，不过你也有足够的时间好好领略纽约的风光了。”“我好像还没有领略多少，”嘉莉回答。“对我来说，它现在和我刚来这里的时候差不多一样陌生。”“你是从西部来的，对不对？”“不错。我是威斯康星州人，”她答道。
“是啊，看来这个城市的多数人来这里都不太久。我听说这里有很多和我是同行的印第安纳州人。”“你干的是哪一行？”嘉莉问道。
“我为一家电气公司工作，”年轻人说。
嘉莉继续这样随便地谈着，万斯夫妇偶尔也插上几句。有几次，大家都谈起话来，还有几分诙谐，就这样到了饭店。
嘉莉注意到沿途那喜庆热闹和寻欢作乐的景象。到处都是马车和行人，五十九街的有轨电车十分拥挤。在五十九街和第五大道的交叉处，挨着普拉扎广场的几家新旅馆一片灯火辉煌，向人们暗示着旅馆里的那种豪华生活。在第五大道，这个富人的安乐窝里，挤满了马车和身穿晚礼服的绅士。他们到了谢丽饭店门口，一个仪表堂堂的看门人替他们打开车门，扶他们下了车。年轻的艾姆斯托着嘉莉的胳膊，扶她上了台阶。
他们走进已经宾客满堂的门厅，脱下外衣后，进了豪华的餐厅。
在她这一生的经历中，嘉莉还从未见过这样的场面。她在纽约待了这么久，可是赫斯渥在新的处境里的经济状况，不允许他带她来这种地方。这周围有一种几乎难以形容的气氛，使得初来的人相信这里才是该来的地方。这种地方，由于费用昂贵，只有那些有钱的或者喜欢作乐的阶层的人，才会成为这里的主顾。嘉莉经常在《世界晨报》和《世界晚报》上看到有关这里的消息。她见过关于在谢丽饭店举行舞会、聚会、大型舞会和晚宴的通告。某某小姐兹定于星期三晚上假座谢丽饭店举行晚会。年轻的某某先生兹定于１６日假座谢丽饭店设午宴款待朋友。诸如此类有关社交活动的常规的三言两语的通告，她每天都忍不住要扫上一眼，因此她十分清楚这座美食家的圣殿的豪华和奢侈。现在，她自己也终于真的来到了这里。她真的走上了由那个身强力壮的看门人守护的堂皇的台阶。她真的看见了由另一个身强力壮的人守护的门厅，还享受了那些照看手杖和大衣之类物品的身穿制服的仆人的伺候。这就是那个华丽无比的餐厅，那个装璜精美、四壁生辉、专供有钱人进餐的地方。啊，万斯太太真幸运，年轻、漂亮、还有钱--至少是有足够的钱乘马车到这里来。有钱真是美妙呀！
万斯领头穿过一排排亮闪闪的餐桌，每张桌上用餐的有两至六人不等。这里的一切都显得大方而庄重，初来乍到的人尤其能感到这一点。白炽灯及其在擦得雪亮的玻璃杯上的反光和金光闪闪的墙壁相辉映，形成了一片光的世界。期间的差异，只有静心观察一阵子，才能加以区别和辨认。绅士们洁白的衬衫衣襟、太太们鲜艳的装束打扮、钻石、珠宝、精美的羽饰--这一切都十分引人注目。
嘉莉同万斯太太一样神气地走进去，在领班为她安排的座位上坐下。她敏锐地注意到一切细小的动作--那些美国人为之付费的侍者和领班的点头哈腰献殷勤的小动作。领班拉出每一把椅子时所表现的神态，请他们入座时做的挥手姿式，这些本身就要值几块钱的。
一坐下，就开始展示有钱的美国人特有的那种铺张浪费且有损健康的吃法。这种吃法令全世界真正有教养、有尊严的人感到奇怪和吃惊。大菜单上列的一行行菜肴足够供养一支军队，旁边标明的价格使得合理开支成为一件可笑且不可能的事情--一份汤要５毛或１块，有一打品种可供选择；有四十种风味的牡蛎，六只要价６毛；主菜、鱼和肉类菜肴的价钱可以供一个人在一般旅馆里住上一宿。在这份印刷十分精美的菜单上，１块５和２块似乎是最普通的价格。
嘉莉注意到了这一点，在看菜单时，童子鸡的价格使她回想起另一份菜单以及那个十分悬殊的场合，那是她第一次和杜洛埃坐在芝加哥一家不错的餐馆里。这只是个瞬间的回忆--如同一首老歌中一个悲伤的音符--随后就消失了。但是在这一刹那间看见的是另一个嘉莉--贫困、饥饿、走投无路，而整个芝加哥是一个冷酷、排外的世界，因为找不到工作，她只能在外面流浪。
墙上装饰着彩色图案，淡绿蓝色的方块块，周围镶着绚丽的金框，四角是些精致的造型，有水果、花朵以及天使般自由翱翔的胖胖的小爱神。天花板上的藻井更是金光闪闪，顺着藻井往中央看，那里悬着一串明灯，白炽灯和闪光的棱柱以及镶金灰泥卷须交织在一起。地板是红色的，上了蜡，打得很光。到处都是镜子--高高的、亮亮的斜边镜子--无数次地反复映出人影、面孔和灯台。
餐桌本身没有什么特别，可是餐巾上的“谢丽”字样，银器上的“蒂芬尼”名字，瓷器上的“哈维蓝”姓氏，当装有红色灯罩的小灯台照耀着这一切，当墙上的五光十色反射在客人们的衣服和脸上时，这些餐桌看上去就十分引人注目了。每个侍者的举手投足，无论是鞠躬或是后退，还是安排座位或是收拾杯盘，都增加了这里的尊贵和高雅的气氛。他对每一位顾客都悉心专门地伺候，半弯着腰立在旁边，侧耳倾听，两手叉腰，口里念着：“汤--甲鱼汤，好的。一份，好的。牡蛎吗，有的--要半打，好的。芦笋。橄榄--好的。”
每位客人都能享受同样的服务，只是这次万斯主动地为大家点菜，征求着大家的意见和建议。嘉莉睁大眼睛打量着这里的人们。纽约的奢侈生活原来如此。有钱人原来就是这样打发他们的时光。她那可怜的小脑袋里所能想到的，就是这里的每一个场面都代表着整个上流社会。每一个贵妇人都必定是下午在百老汇大街的人群中，看日戏时在剧院内，晚上在马车上和餐厅里。肯定到哪里都是风风光光，有马车等待着，有下人伺候着，可是这一切她都没有份。在过去那漫长的两年中，她甚至压根没来过这样的地方。
万斯在这种地方如鱼得水，就像赫斯渥从前一样。他大方地点了汤、牡蛎、烤肉和配菜，还要了几啤酒，放在桌边的柳条篮里。
艾姆斯正出神地望着餐厅里的人群，这样嘉莉看到的是他的侧面，很有趣。他的额头长得很高，鼻子大而结实，下巴也还可爱。他的嘴长得不错，宽阔匀称，深棕色的头发稍稍朝一边分开。在嘉莉看来，他还有点儿孩子气，尽管他已经是个十足的成年人了。
“你知道吗，”沉思过后，他回头对嘉莉说。“有时候，我认为人们这样挥金如土是件可耻的事。”嘉莉看了他一会儿，对他的严肃表情有一丝吃惊。他像是在想一些她从未考虑过的事情。
“是吗？”她很感兴趣地回答。
“真的，”他说，“他们花的钱远远超过了这些东西的价值。
他们是在大摆阔气。”
“我不明白，既然人们有钱，为什么不应该花它，”万斯太太说。
“这样做也没什么坏处，”万斯说，他还在研究菜单，虽然已经点过菜了。
艾姆斯又转眼望去，嘉莉又看着他的额头。她觉得他似乎在想些奇怪的事情，他在打量人群时，目光是温和的。
“看看那边那个女人穿的衣服，”他又回头对嘉莉说，朝一个方向点了点头。
“哪边？”嘉莉说，顺着他的目光看去。
“那边角上--还远一点，你看见那枚胸针了吗？”“很大，是吧？”嘉莉说。
“这是我见过的最大的一串宝石，”艾姆斯说。
“是很大，不是吗？”嘉莉说。她觉得自己像是很想附合着这个年轻人说话，而且与此同时，也许在此之前，她依稀感到他比她受过更多的教育，头脑也比她好使。他看上去似乎是这样，而嘉莉的可取之处正在于她能够理解有些人是会比别人聪明。她一生中见过不少这样的人物，他们使她想起她自己模模糊糊地想象出的学者。现在她身边这个强壮的年轻人，外表清秀，神态自然，仿佛懂得很多她不大懂但却赞同的事情。她想，一个男人能这样是很不错的。
谈话转到当时的一本畅销书，艾伯特·罗斯的《塑造一个淑女》。万斯太太读过这本书。万斯在有些报上见过对它的讨论。
“一个人写本书就能一举成名，”万斯说。“我注意到很多人都在谈论这个叫罗斯的家伙。”他说这话时看着嘉莉。
“我没听说过他，”嘉莉老实地说。
“哦，我听说过，”万斯太太说，“他写过不少东西。最近的这本书写得很不错。”“他并没有什么了不起的，”艾姆斯说。
嘉莉转过眼去看着他，像是看一个先哲。
“他写的东西差不多和《朵拉·索恩》一样糟，”他下结论说。
嘉莉觉得这像是在谴责她。她读过《朵拉·索恩》，或者说以前读过很多篇连载。她自己觉得这本书只能说还可以，但是她猜想别人会以为这本书很不错的。
而现在，这个眼睛明亮、头脑聪明、在她看来还像个学生似的青年人却在嘲笑它。
在他看来，这本书很糟，不值得一读。她低下了头，第一次为自己缺乏理解力感到苦恼。
可是艾姆斯说话的口气没有丝毫的嘲讽或傲慢的味道。
他身上很少这种味道。嘉莉觉得这只是个从更高的角度提出来的善意见解，一种正确的见解，她想知道按他的观点，还有什么是正确的。他似乎注意到了她在听他说话，而且很赞赏他的观点，于是从这以后他说话多半是对着她说的。
侍者鞠躬后退，摸摸盘子看看是否够热，送上汤匙和叉子，殷勤地做着这些小事，为的是能使顾客对这里的豪华环境产生印象。在这期间，艾姆斯也微微侧着身子，向她讲述着印第安纳波利斯的事情，显得很有见识。他确实长了一个充满智慧的脑袋，他的智慧主要体现在电学知识方面。不过他对其它各种学问和各类人物的反应也很敏捷、热烈。红色的灯光照在他的头上，头发变成了金黄色，眼睛也闪闪发亮。当他俯身向她时，她注意到了这一切，觉得自己非常年轻。这个男人远远在她之上。他看上去比赫斯渥明智，比杜洛埃稳舰聪明。他看上去天真、纯洁，她觉得他十分可爱。她还注意到他虽对她有些兴趣。但和她之间相距甚远。她不在他的生活圈内，有关他的生活的任何事情和她都没有关系，可是现在，当他谈起这些事情时，她很感兴趣。
“我可不想做有钱人，”吃饭时他告诉她说，那些食物激发了他的同情心，“不想有太多的钱来这样挥霍。”“哦，你不想吗？”嘉莉说，她第一次听到这种新观点，给她留下了鲜明的印象。
“不想，”他说，“那会有什么好处呢？人要幸福并不需要这种东西。”嘉莉对此有些怀疑，但是从他口里出来的话，对她是有份量的。
“他孤身一人可能也会幸福的，”她心里想。“他是这么强壮。”万斯夫妇不停地插话，艾姆斯只能断断续续地谈些这类难忘的事情。不过，这些已经足够了。因为用不着说话，这个青年人带来的气氛本身就已经给嘉莉留下了深刻的印象。他的身上或者他所到之处有某种东西让她着迷。他使她想起了那些她在舞台上看到的场面，伴随着某种她所不懂的东西，总会出现种种忧愁和牺牲。他那特有的一种从容不迫、无动于衷的气度，减轻了一些这种生活与她的生活对照所产生的痛苦。
他们走出饭店时，他挽住她的手臂，扶她进了马车，然后他们又上路了，就这样去看戏。
看戏的时候，嘉莉发现自己在很专心地听他说话。他提到的戏中的细节，都是她最喜欢的、最令她感动的地方。
“你不认为做个演员很不错吗？”有一次她问道。
“是的，我认为很不错，”他说，“要做个好演员。我认为戏剧很了不起。”就这么一个小小的赞许，弄得嘉莉心头怦怦直跳。啊，但愿她能做个演员--一个好演员！这是个明智的人--他懂--而且他还赞成。倘若她是个出色的演员的话，像他这样的男人会赞许她的。她觉得他能这样说真是个好人，虽然这事和她毫不相干。她不知道为什么自己会有这样的感觉。
戏终场时，她突然明白他不准备和他们一起回去。
“哦，你不回去吗？”嘉莉问，显得有些失态。
“哎，不了，”他说，“我就住在这附近的三十三街上。”嘉莉不再说什么了，但不知怎么地，这事使她很受震动。
她一直在惋惜这个愉快的夜晚即将消逝，但她原以为还有半个小时呢。啊，这些个半小时，这些个分分秒秒，期间充满着多少痛苦和悲伤！
她故作冷淡地道了别。这有什么了不起的？可是，马车似乎变得冷冷清清了。
她回到自己的公寓时，心里还在想着这件事。她不知道自己是否能再见到这个人。可这又有什么什么关系--这又有什么关系呢？
赫斯渥已经回来了，这时已上了床。旁边凌乱地放着他的衣服。嘉莉走到房门口，看见他，又退了回来。她一时还不想进去。她要想一想。房里的情景令她感到不快。
她回到餐室，坐在摇椅里摇了起来。她沉思时两只小手捏得紧紧的。透过那渴望和矛盾的欲望的迷雾，她开始看清了。
啊，多少希望和惋惜，多少悲伤和痛苦！她摇晃着，开始看清了。
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Chapter 33 WITHOUT THE WALLED CITY: THE SLOPE OF THE YEARS
The immediate result of this was nothing. Results from such things are usually long in growing. Morning brings a change of feeling. The existent condition invariably pleads for itself. It is only at odd moments that we get glimpses of the misery of things. The heart understands when it is confronted with contrasts. Take them away and the ache subsides.
Carrie went on, leading much this same life for six months thereafter or more. She did not see Ames any more. He called once upon the Vances, but she only heard about it through the young wife. Then he went West, and there was a gradual subsidence of whatever personal attraction had existed. The mental effect of the thing had not gone, however, and never would entirely. She had an ideal to contrast men by -- particularly men close to her.
During all this time -- a period rapidly approaching three years -- Hurstwood had been moving along in an even path. There was no apparent slope downward, and 'distinctly none upward, so far as the casual observer might have seen. But psychologically there was a change, which was marked enough to suggest the future very distinctly indeed. This was in the mere matter of the halt his career had received when he departed from Chicago. A man's fortune or material progress is very much the same as his bodily growth. Either he is growing stronger, healthier, wiser, as the youth approaching manhood, or he is growing weaker, older, less incisive mentally, as the man approaching old age. There are no other states. Frequently there is a period between the cessation of youthful accretion and the setting in, in the case of the middle-aged man, of the tendency toward decay when the two processes are almost perfectly balanced and there is little doing in either direction. Given time enough, however, the balance becomes a sagging to the grave side. Slowly at first, then with a modest momentum, and at last the graveward process is in the full swing. So it is frequently with man's fortune. If its process of accretion is never halted, if the balancing stage is never reached, there will be no toppling. Rich men are, frequently, in these days, saved from this dissolution of their fortune by their ability to hire younger brains. These younger brains look upon the interests of the fortune as their own, and so steady and direct its progress. If each individual were left absolutely to the care of his own interests, and were given time enough in which to grow exceedingly old, his fortune would pass as his strength and will. He and his would be utterly dissolved and scattered unto the four winds of the heavens.
But now see wherein the parallel changes. A fortune, like a man, is an organism which draws to itself other minds and other strength than that inherent in the founder. Beside the young minds drawn to it by salaries, it becomes allied with young forces, which make for its existence even when the strength and wisdom of the founder are fading. It may be conserved by the growth of a community or of a state. It may be involved in providing something for which there is a growing demand. This removes it at once beyond the special care of the founder. It needs not so much foresight now as direction. The man wanes, the need continues or grows, and the fortune, fallen into whose hands it may, continues. Hence, some men never recognise the turning in the tide of their abilities. It is only in chance cases, where a fortune or a state of success is wrested from them, that the lack of ability to do as they did formerly becomes apparent. Hurstwood, set down under new conditions, was in a position to see that he was no longer young. If he did not, it was due wholly to the fact that his state was so well balanced that an absolute change for the worse did not show.
Not trained to reason or introspect himself, he could not analyse the change that was taking place in his mind, and hence his body, but he felt the depression of it. Constant comparison between his old state and his new showed a balance for the worse, which produced a constant state of gloom or, at least, depression. Now, it has been shown experimentally that a constantly subdued frame of mind produces certain poisons in the blood, called katastates, just as virtuous feelings of pleasure and delight produce helpful chemicals called anastates. The poisons generated by remorse inveigh against the system, and eventually produce marked physical deterioration. To these Hurstwood was subject.
In the course of time it told upon his temper. His eye no longer possessed that buoyant, searching shrewdness which had characterised it in Adams Street. His step was not as sharp and firm. He was given to thinking, thinking, thinking. The new friends he made were not celebrities. They were of a cheaper, a slightly more sensual and cruder, grade. He could not possibly take the pleasure in this company that he had in that of those fine frequenters of the Chicago resort. He was left to brood.
Slowly, exceedingly slowly, his desire to greet, conciliate, and make at home these people who visited the Warren Street place passed from him. More and more slowly the significance of the realm he had left began to be clear. It did not seem so wonderful to be in it when he was in it. It had seemed very easy for any one to get up there and have ample raiment and money to spend, but now that he was out of it, how far off it became. He began to see as one sees a city with a wall about it. Men were posted at the gates. You could not get in. Those inside did not care to come out to see who you were. They were so merry inside there that all those outside were forgotten, and he was on the outside.
Each day he could read in the evening papers of the doings within this walled city. In the notices of passengers for Europe he read the names of eminent frequenters of his old resort. In the theatrical column appeared, from time to time, announcements of the latest successes of men he had known. He knew that they were at their old gayeties. Pullmans were hauling them to and fro about the land, papers were greeting them with interesting mentions, the elegant lobbies of hotels and the glow of polished dining-rooms were keeping them close within the walled city. Men whom he had known, men whom he had tipped glasses with -- rich men, and he was forgotten! Who was Mr. Wheeler? What was the Warren Street resort? Bah!
If one thinks that such thoughts do not come to so common a type of mind -- that such feelings require a higher mental development -- I would urge for their consideration the fact that it is the higher mental development that does away with such thoughts. It is the higher mental development which induces philosophy and that fortitude which refuses to dwell upon such things -- refuses to be made to suffer by their consideration. The common type of mind is exceedingly keen on all matters which relate to its physical welfare -- exceedingly keen. It is the unintellectual miser who sweats blood at the loss of a hundred dollars. It is the Epictetus who smiles when the last vestige of physical welfare is removed.
The time came, in the third year, when this thinking began to produce results in the Warren Street place. The tide of patronage dropped a little below what it had been at its best since he had been there. This irritated and worried him.
There came a night when he confessed to Carrie that the business was not doing as well this month as it had the month before. This was in lieu of certain suggestions she had made concerning little things she wanted to buy. She had not failed to notice that he did not seem to consult her about buying clothes for himself. For the first time, it struck her as a ruse, or that he said it so that she would not think of asking for things. Her reply was mild enough, but her thoughts were rebellious. He was not looking after her at all. She was depending for her enjoyment upon the Vances.
And now the latter announced that they were going away. It was approaching spring, and they were going North.
"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Vance to Carrie, "we think we might as well give up the flat and store our things. We'll be gone for the summer, and it would be a useless expense. I think we'll settle a little farther down town when we come back."
Carrie heard this with genuine sorrow. She had enjoyed Mrs. Vance's companionship so much. There was no one else in the house whom she knew. Again she would be all alone.
Hurstwood's gloom over the slight decrease in profits and the departure of the Vances came together. So Carrie had loneliness and this mood of her husband to enjoy at the same time. It was a grievous thing. She became restless and dissatisfied, not exactly, as she thought, with Hurstwood, but with life. What was it? A very dull round indeed. What did she have? Nothing but this narrow, little flat. The Vances could travel, they could do the things worth doing, and here she was. For what was she made, anyhow? More thought followed, and then tears -- tears seemed justified, and the only relief in the world.
For another period this state continued, the twain leading a rather monotonous life, and then there was a slight change for the worse. One evening, Hurstwood, after thinking about a way to modify Carrie's desire for clothes and the general strain upon his ability to provide, said:
"I don't think I'll ever be able to do much with Shaughnessy."
"What's the matter?" said Carrie.
"Oh, he's a slow, greedy 'mick'! He won't agree to anything to improve the place, and it won't ever pay without it."
"Can't you make him?" said Carrie.
"No; I've tried. The only thing I can see, if I want to improve, is to get hold of a place of my own."
"Why don't you?" said Carrie.
"Well, all I have is tied up in there just now. If I had a chance to save a while I think I could open a place that would give us plenty of money."
"Can't we save?" said Carrie.
"We might try it," he suggested. "I've been thinking that if we'd take a smaller flat down town and live economically for a year, I would have enough, with what I have invested, to open a good place. Then we could arrange to live as you want to."
"It would suit me all right," said Carrie, who, nevertheless, felt badly to think it had come to this. Talk of a smaller flat sounded like poverty.
"There are lots of nice little flats down around Sixth Avenue, below Fourteenth Street. We might get one down there."
"I'll look at them if you say so," said Carrie.
"I think I could break away from this fellow inside of a year," said Hurstwood. "Nothing will ever come of this arrangement as it's going on now."
"I'll look around," said Carrie, observing that the proposed change seemed to be a serious thing with him.
The upshot of this was that the change was eventually effected; not without great gloom on the part of Carrie. It really affected her more seriously than anything that had yet happened. She began to look upon Hurstwood wholly as a man, and not as a lover or husband. She felt thoroughly bound to him as a wife, and that her lot was cast with his, whatever it might be; but she began to see that he was gloomy and taciturn, not a young, strong, and buoyant man. He looked a little bit old to her about the eyes and mouth now, and there were other things which placed him in his true rank, so far as her estimation was concerned. She began to feel that she had made a mistake. Incidentally, she also began to recall the fact that he had practically forced her to flee with him.
The new flat was located in Thirteenth Street, a half block west of Sixth Avenue, and contained only four rooms. The new neighbourhood did not appeal to Carrie as much. There were no trees here, no west view of the river. The street was solidly built up. There were twelve families here, respectable enough, but nothing like the Vances. Richer people required more space.
Being left alone in this little place, Carrie did without a girl. She made it charming enough, but could not make it delight her. Hurstwood was not inwardly pleased to think that they should have to modify their state, but he argued that he could do nothing. He must put the best face on it, and let it go at that.
He tried to show Carrie that there was no cause for financial alarm, but only congratulation over the chance he would have at the end of the year by taking her rather more frequently to the theatre and by providing a liberal table. This was for the time only. He was getting in the frame of mind where he wanted principally to be alone and to be allowed to think. The disease of brooding was beginning to claim him as a victim. Only the newspapers and his own thoughts were worth while. The delight of love had again slipped away. It was a case of live, now, making the best you can out of a very commonplace station in life.
The road downward has but few landings and level places. The very state of his mind, superinduced by his condition, caused the breach to widen between him and his partner. At last that individual began to wish that Hurstwood was out of it. It so happened, however, that a real estate deal on the part of the owner of the land arranged things even more effectually than ill-will could have schemed.
"Did you see that?" said Shaughnessy one morning to Hurstwood, pointing to the real estate column in a copy of the "Herald," which he held.
"No, what is it?" said Hurstwood, looking down the items of news.
"The man who owns this ground has sold it."
"You don't say so?" said Hurstwood.
He looked, and there was the notice. Mr. August Viele had yesterday registered the transfer of the lot, 25 x 75 feet, at the corner of Warren and Hudson streets, to J. F. Slawson for the sum of $57,000.
"Our lease expires when?" asked Hurstwood, thinking. "Next February, isn't it?"
"That's right," said Shaughnessy.
"It doesn't say what the new man's going to do with it," remarked Hurstwood, looking back to the paper.
"We'll hear, I guess, soon enough," said Shaughnessy.
Sure enough, it did develop. Mr. Slawson owned the property adjoining, and was going to put up a modern office building. The present one was to be torn down. It would take probably a year and a half to complete the other one.
All these things developed by degrees, and Hurstwood began to ponder over what would become of the saloon. One day he spoke about it to his partner.
"Do you think it would be worth while to open up somewhere else in the neighbourhood?"
"What would be the use?" said Shaughnessy. "We couldn't get another corner around here."
"It wouldn't pay anywhere else, do you think?"
"I wouldn't try it," said the other.
The approaching change now took on a most serious aspect to Hurstwood. Dissolution meant the loss of his thousand dollars, and he could not save another thousand in the time. He understood that Shaughnessy was merely tired of the arrangement, and would probably lease the new corner, when completed, alone. He began to worry about the necessity of a new connection and to see impending serious financial straits unless something turned up. This left him in no mood to enjoy his flat or Carrie, and consequently the depression invaded that quarter.
Meanwhile, he took such time as he could to look about, but opportunities were not numerous. More, he had not the same impressive personality which he had when he first came to New York. Bad thoughts had put a shade into his eyes which did not impress others favourably. Neither had he thirteen hundred dollars in hand to talk with. About a month later, finding that he had not made any progress, Shaughnessy reported definitely that Slawson would not extend the lease.
"I guess this thing's got to come to an end," he said, affecting an air of concern.
"Well, if it has, it has," answered Hurstwood, grimly. He would not give the other a key to his opinions, whatever they were. He should not have the satisfaction.
A day or two later he saw that he must say something to Carrie.
"You know," he said, "I think I'm going to get the worst of my deal down there."
"How is that?" asked Carrie in astonishment.
"Well, the man who owns the ground has sold it, and the new owner won't re-lease it to us. The business may come to an end."
"Can't you start somewhere else?"
"There doesn't seem to be any place. Shaughnessy doesn't want to."
"Do you lose what you put in?"
"Yes," said Hurstwood, whose face was a study.
"Oh, isn't that too bad?" said Carrie.
"It's a trick," said Hurstwood. "That's all. They'll start another place there all right."
Carrie looked at him, and gathered from his whole demeanour what it meant. It was serious, very serious.
"Do you think you can get something else?" she ventured, timidly.
Hurstwood thought a while. It was all up with the bluff about money and investment. She could see now that he was "broke."
"I don't know," he said solemnly; "I can try."
这件事情没有产生任何直接的结果。这类事要产生什么结果往往需要漫长的时间。早晨给人带来新的心情。目前的处境总会自我开脱的。只是在偶尔的时候，我们会起见事情的不幸。对照之下，人心能体会到这种不幸。没有了对照，痛苦也就减轻了。 在这以后的六个多月里，嘉莉照旧这样生活着。她没再见过艾姆斯。他来拜访过万斯夫妇一次，但她只是从那位年轻的太太那里听说了这事。随后，他便去了西部，即使这个人曾经吸引过她，现在这种吸引力也逐渐消失了。然而这件事的精神影响并没有消失，而且永远不会完全消失。她有了一个典范，可以用来对照男人，特别是她身边的男人。
转眼就快到三年了。在这整个时期内，赫斯渥倒也一帆风顺。没有什么明显的走下坡路，也没有什么显著的上升，一般的旁观者都能看出这一点。但他在心理上有了变化，这种变化很显著，足以清楚地表明将来的情况。这种变化仅仅是因为离开了芝加哥，导致了他的事业中断而造成的。一个人的财产或物质方面的发展和他的身体的成长很相像。他要么如同青年接近成年，越变越强壮、健康、聪明；要么如同成年接近老年，越变越虚弱、衰老、思想迟钝。没有任何别的状况。就中年人而言，在青春活力停止增长和衰老的趋势到来之间，往往会有一段时期，两种进展几乎完全平衡，很少向任何一方倾斜。可是，过了足够长的时间以后，这种平衡开始朝坟墓一面下陷。
开始很慢，然后有些加速，最后就全速走向坟墓。人的财产也往往如此。倘若财产的增长过程从未中断过，倘若那种平衡的状态从未达到过，那么就不会垮掉。现今的这些有钱人往往因为他们能雇佣年轻的聪明人而避免了这样耗尽他们的财产。
这些年轻的聪明人把雇主财产的利益看作是自己的利益。因此，财产就有了稳定、直接的发展。倘若每个人都要绝对地自己照管自己的财产，而且在过了足够长的时间后又变得极起衰老，那么他的财产就会像他的精力和意志一样消逝掉。他和他的财产就会完全化为乌有，不知去向。
但是，现在来看看这种类比在什么方面有所不同。一份财产，如同一个人，是一个有机体，除了创业人固有的才智和精力之外，它还要吸引别人的才智和精力。除了那些靠薪水吸引来的年轻人以外，它还要联合年轻人的力量。即使当创业人的精力和智慧逐渐衰退的时候，这些年轻人的力量仍能维持它的生存。它可能会由于一个社会或国家的发展而得以保存。它可能会致力于提供某种需求量日益增加的东西。这样一来，它立即就可以摆脱创业人的特殊照料。它这时就不需要远见而只需要指导了。人在衰退，需求在继续或者在增长，那么这份财产，无论可能会落入谁的手中，都会维持下去。因此，有些人从未意识到自己能力的衰退。只是在一些偶尔的情况下，当他们的财产或成功的处境被剥夺时，才会明显地看出他们已经缺少过去的那种经营能力。当赫斯渥在新的环境中安顿下来的时候，他应该能够看出自己已不再年轻。要是他看不出这一点，那完全是因为他的状况正极为平衡，还没有露出衰退的痕迹。
他本身并不善于推理或反省，也就不能分析他的精神乃至身体上正在发生的变化，但是他已经感到了这种变化所带来的压抑。不断地将他过去的处境和现在的处境相对比，表明平衡正向坏的一面倾斜，于是产生了一种终日忧郁或者至少是消沉的心态。如今，有实验表明，终日抑郁的心情会在血液中产生某些叫做破坏素的毒素，正如愉快和欢乐的心情会产生叫做生长素的有益化学物质一般。由悔恨产生的毒素侵袭着身体组织，最终造成明显的体质恶化。这种情况正在赫斯渥身上发生。
一段时间以后，他的性情受到了影响。他的目光不再像当年在亚当斯街时那样轻快、敏锐。他的脚步不再像从前那样敏捷、坚实。他总是沉思、沉思、再沉思。他的那些新朋友都不是知名人士。他们属于比较低级，偏重肉欲而且较为粗俗的那等人。和这群人打交道，他不可能得到他在和常来芝加哥酒店的那些优雅人士交往中得到的乐趣。他只有任由自己郁郁沉思。
渐渐地，他不再愿意招呼、讨好和款待这些来沃伦街酒店的顾客了，虽然这种变化很慢，极其缓慢。渐渐地，他所放弃的那块天地的重要性也开始慢慢变得清楚起来。当他置身于起中时，也没觉得它有多么美妙。似乎人人都很容易去那里，人人都有很多的衣服穿，有足够的钱花。可是，如今当他被排斥在外，它竟变得如此遥远。他开始发现它就像一座围有城墙的禁城。各个城门口都有人把守。你无法进去。城里的人不屑出来看看你是谁。他们在里面快乐得很，根本就忘记了外面的所有人，而他就在外面。
每天他都能从晚报上看到这座禁城内的活动。在有关旅欧游客的通告中，他看到他过去那家酒店的知名主顾们的名字。在戏剧栏内，不时出现有关他过去认识的人们的最新成功之作的报道。他知道他们快乐依旧。头等卧车拉着他们在国内到处跑，报纸刊登有趣的新闻向他们表示欢迎，旅馆里雅致的门厅和明亮的餐厅里的一片灯火辉煌将他们紧紧地围在禁城之中。啊，那些他认识的人，那些和他碰过杯的人，那些有钱的人，而他却已被遗忘！惠勒先生是个什么人物？沃伦街酒店是个什么地方？呸！
倘若有人认为，这样的想法不会出现在如此普通的头脑里--这样的感觉需要更高的思想境界--那么我要提请他们注意，正是更高的思想境界才会排除这样的想法。正是更高的思想境界才会产生哲理和那种坚韧的精神，有了这种精神，人们就不愿去细想这类事情，不愿因考虑这类事情而自寻烦恼。普通的头脑对于有关物质幸福的一切事物都会非常敏感--敏感至极。只有无知的守财奴才会为损失了１００块钱而心痛万分。只有埃普克提图类型的主张忍耐与节制的人，才会在最后的一丝物质幸福的痕迹被抹掉的时候，能一笑置之。
到了第三年，这种想法开始对沃伦街酒店产生影响了。客流量比他进店以来最好的时候略有减少。这使他既恼怒又担忧。
有一天晚上，他向嘉莉吐露说，这个月的生意不如上个月做的好。他说这话来答复她提出的想买些小东西的要求。她已经注意到，他在为自己购买衣服时，好像并不和她商量。她第一次觉得这是个诡计，或者他这么说就是叫她不再想着开口要东西。她的回答虽然很温和，但她的心里十分反感。他一点也不关心她。她把自己的乐趣寄托在万斯夫妇的身上。
可是，这时万斯夫妇说他们要离开这里。春天快到了，他们要去北方。
“哦，是呀，”万斯太太对嘉莉说，“我们想还是最好把房子退掉，把东西寄存起来。我们整个夏天都不在这里，租这套房子是个无益的浪费。我想等回来的时候，我们住到靠市区近一点的地方去。”嘉莉听到这个消息，心里十分难过。她非常喜欢和万斯太太作伴。在这幢房子里，她不认识别的什么人。她又要孤单一人了。
赫斯渥对赢利减少的忧虑和万斯夫妇的离开，是同时发生的。因此，嘉莉要同时忍受自己的寂寞和丈夫的这种心境。
这事真让人伤心。她变得烦燥、不满，这种不满不完全像她想的那样是对赫斯渥的不满，而是对生活的不满。这是什么样的生活呀？整个一个日复一日的枯燥循环，实在是无味透顶。她拥有什么呢？除了这套窄小的公寓之外，她一无所有。万斯夫妇可以旅行，他们可以做些值得做的事情，而她却呆在这里。
她生来究竟是为了什么？由此越想越多，随后就流泪了。流泪似乎情有可原，而且是这世上唯一的安慰。
这种状况又持续了一段时间，这对人儿过着颇为单调的生活，后来情况又稍有恶化。一天晚上，在考虑用什么办法来减少嘉莉对衣服的需求并减轻压在他的支付能力上的总的重负以后，赫斯渥说：“我想我再也无法和肖内西一起做了。”“出什么事了？”嘉莉说。
“咳，他是一个迟钝、贪婪的爱尔兰佬。他不同意任何改进酒店的办法，而不改进，酒店根本就赚不了钱。”“你不能说服他吗？”嘉莉说。
“不行，我试过。我看要想改进只有一个办法，就是我自己开一家酒店。”“你为什么不这样做呢？”嘉莉问。
“唉，目前我所有的钱都卡在那里了。倘若我有可能节约一段时间，我想我就能开一家酒店，为我们赚很多的钱。”
“我们有可能节约吗？”嘉莉说。
“我们不妨试试，”他建议道。“我一直在想，要是我们在市区租一套小一些的公寓，节俭地过上一年，加上我已经投资的部分，我就有足够的钱开一家好酒店了。到那个时候，我们就能按你的愿望生活了。”“那将很合我的心意，”嘉莉说，尽管当她想到事情竟然发展到这一步时，心里感到很难过。谈到租小些的公寓，听起来像是要受穷了。
“在第六大道附近，十四街往南，有很多漂亮的小公寓。我们可以在那里租上一套。”“如果你说行的话，我就去看看，"嘉莉说。
“我想一年之内就能和这个家伙散伙，”赫斯渥说，“像现在这个做法，这桩生意无利可图。”“我要去看看，”嘉莉说，她看出他关于换房子的建议看来是当真的。
这次谈话的结果是最终换了房子。嘉莉也不免因此而闷闷不乐。这件事对她的影响比以往发生的任何事都更为严重。
她开始把赫斯渥完全看作是一个男人。而不是一个情人或丈夫。作为一个妻子，她觉得自己和他息息相关，不管命运如何，总是和他共命运的。可是，她开始发现他郁郁寡欢、沉默不语，不是一个年轻力壮、心情愉快的人了。在她看来，现在他的眼角和嘴边都有些显老了。照她的估计，还有别的事情让他露出了真面目。她开始感到自己犯了一个错误。顺便提一句，她还开始想起，当初实际上是他强迫她和他一起私奔的。
新公寓在十三街上，第六大道往西边去一点，只有四间房间。新住所的周围环境也不如以前的那么让嘉莉喜欢。这里没有树木，西面也看不见河。这条街上造满了房子。这里住着十二户人家，都是很体面的人，但是远不及万斯夫妇。更加有钱的人需要更多的居住空间。
嘉莉没雇女仆，因为只有她自己一个人待在这个小地方。
她把房子布置得相当可爱，但是无法把它弄得令自己欢心。赫斯渥想到他们不得不改变自己的境况，心里也不高兴，但是他争辩说他也是没有办法。他只有尽量做出高兴的样子，随它去了。
他试图向嘉莉表明，不必为经济问题感到恐慌，而应感到庆幸，因为一年后，他就有可能多带她去看戏，餐桌上的饭菜也会丰富多了。这只是一时的权宜之计。他的心情变得只想一人独处，这样可以想想心事。他已经开始成为郁郁沉思这一毛病的牺牲品。唯一值得做的就是看看报纸和独自思考。爱情的欢乐再次被错过。现在的问题只是生活下去，在十分平凡的生活中，尽量享受生活。
下坡路上很少有落脚点和气地。他那和处境并发的精神状态，加大了他和他的合伙人之间的裂痕。最后，那个人开始希望摆脱赫斯渥了。然而，也真凑巧，这块地皮的主人做了一笔地产交易，把事情解决得比相互仇视所能谋划的更为有效。
“你看见这个了吗？”一天早上，肖内西指着他手里拿的一张《先驱报》的房地产交易栏，对赫斯渥说。
“没有，什么事呀？”赫斯渥说着，低头去看那些新闻。
“这块地皮的主人把它卖掉了。”
“你不是开玩笑吧？”赫斯渥说。
他看了一下，果然有一则通告：奥古斯特·维尔先生已于昨日将沃伦街和赫德森街拐角处那块２５×７５英尺的土地，作价５．７万块钱，正式过户给杰·费·斯劳森。
“我们的租赁权什么时候到期？”赫斯渥问，一边思忖着。
“明年２月，是不是？”
“是的，”肖内西答道。
“这上面没说地皮的新主人打算把它派什么用场吧，”赫斯渥说，又看了看报纸。
“我想，我们很快就会知道的，”肖内西说。
的确如此，事情有了发展。斯劳森先生是与酒店毗邻的那片地产的主人，他准备在这里盖一幢现代化的办公楼。现有的房子要拆掉，大约要一年半的时间才能盖好新楼。
这一切逐步地发展着，赫斯渥也开始考虑啤酒店的前景来。一天，他向他的合伙人谈起这事“你认为在这附近别的地方另开一家酒店值得吗？”“那有什么用呢？”肖内西说。“在这附近我们也找不到别的拐角。”“你觉得在别的地方开酒店赚不到钱吗？”。
“我不想尝试，”另一位说。
这时，即将发生的变化对于赫斯渥显得十分严峻了。散伙意味着失去他那１０００块钱，而且此间他不可能再攒出１０００块钱来。他明白肖内西只是厌倦了合伙，等到拐角上的新楼盖好后，他很可能会独自在那里租一家店。他开始为必须再找寻新的关系而发愁，并且开始意识到，除非出现什么转机，否则严重的经济困难已经迫在眉睫。这使得他无心欣赏他的家或嘉莉，因此，沮丧也侵入了这个家庭。
在此期间，他尽量抽出时间去四处奔波，但是机会很少。
而且，他已不再具有初来纽约时的那种感人的气质。不愉快的想法给他的眼睛蒙上了一层阴影，不会给人留下好的印象。交谈时，手头也没有１３００块钱作为谈话的本钱。大约一个月后，他发现自己毫无进展，而此时肖内西则明确的告诉他，斯劳森不愿延长租期。
“我看这事是非完蛋不可了。”他说，一副假装关心的模样。
“哦，如果非完蛋不可，就让它完蛋吧，”赫斯渥冷冷地答道。他不愿意让对方看出自己的想法，无论是什么样的想法。
不能让他得意。
一两天后，他觉得他必须和嘉莉谈谈了。
“你可知道，”他说，“我看我的那家酒店生意要出现最糟糕的情况了。”“怎么会这样呢？”嘉莉吃惊地问道。
“唉，地皮的主人把它卖了，新的主人又不愿再租给我们。
生意可能就要完蛋了。”
“你不能在别处再开一家吗？”
“看来没地方可开。肖内西也不愿意。”“你会损失全部投资吗？”“是的，”赫斯渥说，满脸愁容。
“哎呀，那不是太糟了吗？”嘉莉说。
“这是一场骗局，”赫斯渥说，“就是这么回事。他们肯定会在那里另开一家的。”嘉莉望着他，从他整个的神态上看出了这件事的意义所在。这是件严重的事，非常严重。
“你觉得能想些别的办法吗？”她怯生生地鼓起勇气问道。
赫斯渥想了一会儿。现在他再也不能说什么有钱、有投资的骗人鬼话了。她看得出现在他是“破产”了。
“我不知道，”他严肃地说。“我可以试试。”
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Chapter 34 THE GRIND OF THE MILLSTONES: A SAMPLE OF CHAFF
Carrie pondered over this situation as consistently as Hurstwood, once she got the facts adjusted in her mind. It took several days for her to fully realise that the approach of the dissolution of her husband's business meant commonplace struggle and privation. Her mind went back to her early venture in Chicago, the Hansons and their flat, and her heart revolted. That was terrible! Everything about poverty was terrible. She wished she knew a way out. Her recent experiences with the Vances had wholly unfitted her to view her own state with complacence. The glamour of the high life of the city had, in the few experiences afforded her by the former, seized her completely. She had been taught how to dress and where to go without having ample means to do either. Now, these things -- ever-present realities as they were -- filled her eyes and mind. The more circumscribed became her state, the more entrancing seemed this other. And now poverty threatened to seize her entirely and to remove this other world far upward like a heaven to which any Lazarus might extend, appealingly, his hands.
So, too, the ideal brought into her life by Ames remained. He had gone, but here was his word that riches were not everything; that there was a great deal more in the world than she knew; that the stage was good, and the literature she read poor. He was a strong man and clean -- how much stronger and better than Hurstwood and Drouet she only half formulated to herself, but the difference was painful. It was something to which she voluntarily closed her eyes.
During the last three months of the Warren Street connection, Hurstwood took parts of days off and hunted, tracking the business advertisements. It was a more or less depressing business, wholly because of the thought that he must soon get something or he would begin to live on the few hundred dollars he was saving, and then he would have nothing to invest -- he would have to hire out as a clerk.
Everything he discovered in his line advertised as an opportunity, was either too expensive or too wretched for him. Besides, winter was coming, the papers were announcing hardships, and there was a general feeling of hard times in the air, or, at least, he thought so. In his worry, other people's worries became apparent. No item about a firm failing, a family starving, or a man dying upon the streets, supposedly of starvation, but arrested his eye as he scanned the morning papers. Once the "World" came out with a flaring announcement about "80,000 people out of employment in New York this winter," which struck as a knife at his heart.
"Eighty thousand!" he thought. "What an awful thing that is."
This was new reasoning for Hurstwood. In the old days the world had seemed to be getting along well enough. He had been wont to see similar things in the "Daily News," in Chicago, but they did not hold his attention. Now, these things were like grey clouds hovering along the horizon of a clear day. They threatened to cover and obscure his life with chilly greyness. He tried to shake them off, to forget and brace up. Sometimes he said to himself, mentally:
"What's the use worrying? I'm not out yet. I've got six weeks more. Even if worst comes to worst, I've got enough to live on for six months."
Curiously, as he troubled over his future, his thoughts occasionally reverted to his wife and family. He had avoided such thoughts for the first three years as much as possible. He hated her, and he could get along without her. Let her go. He would do well enough. Now, however, when he was not doing well enough, he began to wonder what she was doing, how his children were getting along. He could see them living as nicely as ever, occupying the comfortable house and using his property.
"By George! it's a shame they should have it all," he vaguely thought to himself on several occasions. "I didn't do anything."
As he looked back now and analysed the situation which led up to his taking the money, he began mildly to justify himself. What had he done -- what in the world -- that should bar him out this way and heap such difficulties upon him? It seemed only yesterday to him since he was comfortable and well-to-do. But now it was all wrested from him.
"She didn't deserve what she got out of me, that is sure. I didn't do so much, if everybody could just know."
There was no thought that the facts ought to be advertised. It was only a mental justification he was seeking from himself -- something that would enable him to bear his state as a righteous man.
One afternoon, five weeks before the Warren Street place closed up, he left the saloon to visit three or four places he saw advertised in the "Herald." One was down in Gold Street, and he visited that, but did not enter. It was such a cheap looking place he felt that he could not abide it. Another was on the Bowery, which he knew contained many showy resorts. It was near Grand Street, and turned out to be very handsomely fitted up. He talked around about investments for fully three-quarters of an hour with the proprietor, who maintained that his health was poor, and that was the reason he wished a partner.
"Well, now, just how much money would it take to buy a half interest here?" said Hurstwood, who saw seven hundred dollars as his limit.
"Three thousand," said the man.
Hurstwood's jaw fell.
"Cash?" he said.
"Cash."
He tried to put on an air of deliberation, as one who might really buy; but his eyes showed gloom. He wound up by saying he would think it over, and came away. The man he had been talking to sensed his condition in a vague way.
"I don't think he wants to buy," he said to himself. "He doesn't talk right."
The afternoon was as grey as lead and cold. It was blowing up a disagreeable winter wind. He visited a place far up on the east side, near Sixty-ninth Street, and it was five o'clock, and growing dim, when he reached there. A portly German kept this place.
"How about this ad. of yours?" asked Hurstwood, who rather objected to the looks of the place.
"Oh, dat iss all over," said the German. "I vill not sell now."
"Oh, is that so?"
"Yes; dere is nothing to dat. It iss all over."
"Very well," said Hurstwood, turning around.
The German paid no more attention to him, and it made him angry.
"The crazy ass!" he said to himself. "What does he want to advertise for?"
Wholly depressed, he started for Thirteenth Street. The flat had only a light in the kitchen, where Carrie was working. He struck a match and, lighting the gas, sat down in the dining-room without even greeting her. She came to the door and looked in.
"It's you, is it?" she said, and went back.
"Yes," he said, without even looking up from the evening paper he had bought.
Carrie saw things were wrong with him. He was not so handsome when gloomy. The lines at the sides of the eyes were deepened. Naturally dark of skin, gloom made him look slightly sinister. He was quite a disagreeable figure.
Carrie set the table and brought in the meal.
"Dinner's ready," she said, passing him for something.
He did not answer, reading on.
She came in and sat down at her place, feeling exceedingly wretched.
"Won't you eat now?" she asked.
He folded his paper and drew near, silence holding for a time, except for the "Pass me's."
"It's been gloomy to-day, hasn't it?" ventured Carrie, after a time.
"Yes," he said.
He only picked at his food.
"Are you still sure to close up?" said Carrie, venturing to take up the subject which they had discussed often enough.
"Of course we are," he said, with the slightest modification of sharpness.
This retort angered Carrie. She had had a dreary day of it herself.
"You needn't talk like that," she said.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, pushing back from the table, as if to say more, but letting it go at that. Then he picked up his paper. Carrie left her seat, containing herself with difficulty. He saw she was hurt.
"Don't go 'way," he said, as she started back into the kitchen. "Eat your dinner."
She passed, not answering.
He looked at the paper a few moments, and then rose up and put on his coat.
"I'm going down town, Carrie," he said, coming out. "I'm out of sorts to-night."
She did not answer.
"Don't be angry," he said. "It will be all right to-morrow."
He looked at her, but she paid no attention to him, working at her dishes.
"Good-bye!" he said finally, and went out.
This was the first strong result of the situation between them, but with the nearing of the last day of business the gloom became almost a permanent thing. Hurstwood could not conceal his feelings about the matter. Carrie could not help wondering where she was drifting. It got so that they talked even less than usual, and yet it was not Hurstwood who felt any objection to Carrie. It was Carrie who shied away from him. This he noticed. It aroused an objection to her becoming indifferent to him. He made the possibility of friendly intercourse almost a giant task, and then noticed with discontent that Carrie added to it by her manner and made it more impossible.
At last the final day came. When it actually arrived, Hurstwood, who had got his mind into such a state where a thunder-clap and raging storm would have seemed highly appropriate, was rather relieved to find that it was a plain, ordinary day. The sun shone, the temperature was pleasant. He felt, as he came to the breakfast table, that it wasn't so terrible, after all.
"Well," he said to Carrie, "to-day's my last day on earth."
Carrie smiled in answer to his humour.
Hurstwood glanced over his paper rather gayly. He seemed to have lost a load.
"I'll go down for a little while," he said after breakfast, "and then I'll look around. To-morrow I'll spend the whole day looking about. I think I can get something, now this thing's off my hands."
He went out smiling and visited the place. Shaughnessy was there. They had made all arrangements to share according to their interests. When, however, he had been there several hours, gone out three more, and returned, his elation had departed. As much as he had objected to the place, now that it was no longer to exist, he felt sorry. He wished that things were different.
Shaughnessy was coolly business-like.
"Well," he said at five o'clock, "we might as well count the change and divide."
They did so. The fixtures had already been sold and the sum divided.
"Good-night," said Hurstwood at the final moment, in a last effort to be genial.
"So long," said Shaughnessy, scarcely deigning a notice.
Thus the Warren Street arrangement was permanently concluded.
Carrie had prepared a good dinner at the flat, but after his ride up, Hurstwood was in a solemn and reflective mood.
"Well?" said Carrie, inquisitively.
"I'm out of that," he answered, taking off his coat.
As she looked at him, she wondered what his financial state was now. They ate and talked a little.
"Will you have enough to buy in anywhere else?" asked Carrie.
"No," he said. "I'll have to get something else and save up."
"It would be nice if you could get some place," said Carrie, prompted by anxiety and hope.
"I guess I will," he said reflectively.
For some days thereafter he put on his overcoat regularly in the morning and sallied forth. On these ventures he first consoled himself with the thought that with the seven hundred dollars he had he could still make some advantageous arrangement. He thought about going to some brewery, which, as he knew, frequently controlled saloons which they leased, and get them to help him. Then he remembered that he would have to pay out several hundred any way for fixtures and that he would have nothing left for his monthly expenses. It was costing him nearly eighty dollars a month to live.
"No," he said, in his sanest moments, "I can't do it. I'll get something else and save up."
This getting-something proposition complicated itself the moment he began to think of what it was he wanted to do. Manage a place? Where should he get such a position? The papers contained no requests for managers. Such positions, he knew well enough, were either secured by long years of service or were bought with a half or third interest. Into a place important enough to need such a manager he had not money enough to buy.
Nevertheless, he started out. His clothes were very good and his appearance still excellent, but it involved the trouble of deluding. People, looking at him, imagined instantly that a man of his age, stout and well dressed, must be well off. He appeared a comfortable owner of something, a man from whom the common run of mortals could well expect gratuities. Being now forty-three years of age, and comfortably built, walking was not easy. He had not been used to exercise for many years. His legs tired, his shoulders ached, and his feet pained him at the close of the day, even when he took street cars in almost every direction. The mere getting up and down, if long continued, produced this result.
The fact that people took him to be better off than he was, he well understood. It was so painfully clear to him that it retarded his search. Not that he wished to be less well-appearing, but that he was ashamed to belie his appearance by incongruous appeals. So he hesitated, wondering what to do.
He thought of the hotels, but instantly he remembered that he had had no experience as a clerk, and, what was more important, no acquaintances or friends in that line to whom he could go. He did know some hotel owners in several cities, including New York, but they knew of his dealings with Fitzgerald and Moy. He could not apply to them. He thought of other lines suggested by large buildings or businesses which he knew of -- wholesale groceries, hardware, insurance concerns, and the like -- but he had had no experience.
How to go about getting anything was a bitter thought. Would he have to go personally and ask; wait outside an office door, and, then, distinguished and affluent looking, announce that he was looking for something to do? He strained painfully at the thought. No, he could not do that.
He really strolled about, thinking, and then, the weather being cold, stepped into a hotel. He knew hotels well enough to know that any decent looking individual was welcome to a chair in the lobby. This was in the Broadway Central, which was then one of the most important hotels in the city. Taking a chair here was a painful thing to him. To think he should come to this! He had heard loungers about hotels called chair-warmers. He had called them that himself in his day. But here he was, despite the possibility of meeting some one who knew him, shielding himself from cold and the weariness of the streets in a hotel lobby.
"I can't do this way," he said to himself. "There's no use of my starting out mornings without first thinking up some place to go. I'll think of some places and then look them up."
It occurred to him that the positions of bartenders were sometimes open, but he put this out of his mind. Bartender -- he, the ex-manager!
It grew awfully dull sitting in the hotel lobby, and so at four he went home. He tried to put on a business air as he went in, but it was a feeble imitation. The rocking-chair in the dining-room was comfortable. He sank into it gladly, with several papers he had bought, and began to read.
As she was going through the room to begin preparing dinner, Carrie said:
"The man was here for the rent to-day."
"Oh, was he?" said Hurstwood.
The least wrinkle crept into his brow as he remembered that this was February 2d, the time the man always called. He fished down in his pocket for his purse, getting the first taste of paying out when nothing is coming in. He looked at the fat, green roll as a sick man looks at the one possible saving cure. Then he counted off twenty-eight dollars.
"Here you are," he said to Carrie, when she came through again.
He buried himself in his papers and read. Oh, the rest of it -- the relief from walking and thinking! What Lethean waters were these floods of telegraphed intelligence! He forgot his troubles, in part. Here was a young, handsome woman, if you might believe the newspaper drawing, suing a rich, fat, candy-making husband in Brooklyn for divorce. Here was another item detailing the wrecking of a vessel in ice and snow off Prince's Bay on Staten Island. A long, bright column told of the doings in the theatrical world -- the plays produced, the actors appearing, the managers making announcements. Fannie Davenport was just opening at the Fifth Avenue. Daly was producing "King Lear." He read of the early departure for the season of a party composed of the Vanderbilts and their friends for Florida. An interesting shooting affray was on in the mountains of Kentucky. So he read, read, read, rocking in the warm room near the radiator and waiting for dinner to be served.
嘉莉一旦对事实有了正确的认识，就像赫斯渥一样，一直考虑着目前的处境。她花了几天的工夫才充分认识到，她丈夫的生意即将完结，这意味着他们要为生活而挣扎，要遭受贫困。她回想起她早年冒险闯荡芝加哥的日子，想起汉生夫妇和他们的那套房子，她心里很是反感。这太可怕了！凡是和贫困有关的事都是可怕的。她多么希望自己能找到一条出路埃最近和万斯夫妇一起的一些经历，使得她完全不能以自满的心情来看待自己的处境了。万斯夫妇带给她的几次经历，使她彻底迷上了这个城市的上流社会的生活。有人教会了她怎样打扮，到何处去玩，而这两者她都没有足够的财力做到。如今，她满眼和满脑子都是这些事情--就像是些永存的现实。她的处境越是紧迫，这另一种光景就越是显得迷人。现在贫困正威胁着要将她整个俘获，并把这另一个世界使劲朝上推去，使它就像任何穷人都会向之伸手乞讨的上天一般。 同样也留下了艾姆斯带进她生活的理想。他的人走了，但他的话还在：财富不是一切；世界上还有很多她不知道的事；当演员不错；她读的文学作品不怎么样。他是个强者，而且纯洁--究竟比赫斯渥和杜洛埃强多少、好多少，她也只是一知半解，但是期间的差别令她痛苦。这是她有意不去正视的事。
在沃伦街酒店干的最后三个月里，赫斯渥抽出部分时间，按着那些商业广告，四下寻找机会。这事多少有些令人伤感，原因完全在于他想到他必须马上找到事情做，否则他就得开始靠他攒的那几百块钱过活，那样他就会没钱投资，他就不得不受雇于他人，做个职员了。
他在广告中发现的每一家看来能提供机会的酒店对他都不合适，要么太贵，要么太糟。另外，冬天即将来临，报纸在告诉人们困难时期到了，人们普遍感到时世艰难，或者至少他是这么认为的。他自己在犯愁，因此别人的忧愁也变得显而易见了。他在浏览早报时，什么商店倒闭，家庭挨饿，路人据猜因为饥饿而倒毙街头，没有一则这类的消息能逃过他的眼睛。一次，《世界报》刊出了一条耸人听闻的消息说：“今冬纽约有八万人失业。”这则新闻就像一把刀子，刺痛了他的心。
“八万人，”他想。“这事多么可怕呀！”
这种想法对于赫斯渥是全新的。从前，人们似乎都过得挺好。在芝加哥时，他曾常常在《每日新闻》上看到类似的事情，但是没有引起过他的注意。如今，这些事情就像是晴朗的天边铺着的阴云，威胁着要将他的生活笼罩和遮蔽在阴冷灰暗之中。他想甩开它们，忘记它们，振作起来。有时候，他心里自言自语：“犯愁有什么用呢？我还没完蛋嘛。我还有六个星期的时间。即便出现最糟的情况，我还有足够的钱过上六个月。"说来奇怪，当他为自己的前途犯愁的时候，他偶尔会转念想起他的太太和家庭来。头三年中，他尽量避而不想这些。他恨她，没她他也能过活，让她去吧。他能过得挺好。可是现在，当他过得不太好时，他却开始想起她，不知她在做些什么，他的孩子们过得怎样。他能想象得出，他们照旧过得很好，住着那幢舒适的房子，用着他的财产。
“老天爷，他们全都给占去了，真是太不像话了！”有几次他这样模糊地自忖着。“我可没干什么坏事。”现在，当他回首往事，分析导致他偷那笔钱的情形时，他开始适度地替自己辩护。他干了什么，究竟干了什么，要把他这样排挤出去，要把这么多的困难堆在他的头上？对他来说，仿佛就在昨天，他还过得舒适、宽裕。可是现在，他却被剥夺了这一切。
“她不应该享受从我这里拿去的这一切，这一点可以肯定。我没干什么大不了的坏事，要是人人都明白这个就好了。”他没有想过应该公开这些事实。这只不过是他从自身寻找的一种精神辩护--它使他能够像个正直的人一样忍受自己的处境。
在关闭沃伦街酒店前五个星期的一天下午，他离开酒店去拜访他在《先驱报》上看见登有广告的三四个地方。一个在金街，他去看了，但没进去。这地方看上去太寒酸了，他觉得无法忍受。另一个在波威里街上，他知道这条街上有很多豪华的酒店。这家酒店靠近格蓝德街，果然装修得非常漂亮。他转弯抹角地和店东兜着圈子谈论投资问题，整整谈了有３刻钟。店东强调说，他身体不好，因此想找个合伙人。
“那么，这个，买一半股权要多少钱呢？”赫斯渥问道，他想最多他只能出７００块钱。
“３０００块。”那人说。
赫斯渥的脸拉长了。
“现金吗？”他说。
“现金。”
他想装出在考虑的样子，像是真能买似的，但他的眼里却流露出忧愁。他说要考虑一下，结束了谈话，然后走掉了。和他谈话的店东依稀觉察到他的境遇不佳。
“我看他是不想买，”他自语道。“他说话不对劲。”这是个灰蒙蒙冷飕飕的下午。天刮起了令人不快的寒风。
他去拜访远在东区，靠近六十九街的一家酒店。当他到达那里时，已经５点钟，天色渐渐暗下来了。店东是个大腹便便的德国人。
“谈谈你们登的这则广告好吗？”赫斯渥问，这家酒店的外观很令他反感。
“噢，这事已经过去了，”那个德国人说。“我现在不卖了。”“哦，这是真的吗？”“是的，现在没有这回事了。这事已经过去了。”“很好，”赫斯渥说着，转过身去。
那德国人不再睬他了，这使他很生气。
“这个笨蛋疯了！”他对自己说。“那他干嘛要登那个广告？”他彻底灰心了，便朝十三街走去。家里只有厨房里亮着一盏灯。嘉莉正在里面干活。他擦了一根火柴，点亮了煤气灯，也没有招呼她，就在餐室里坐下了。她走到门口，朝里看了看。
“是你回来了吗？”她说着，又走了回去。
“是的，”他说，埋头盯着买来的晚报，都没抬眼看一下。
嘉莉知道他的情况不妙了。他不高兴时，就不那么漂亮了。眼角边的皱纹也加深了。天生的黑皮肤，忧郁使他看上去有点凶恶。这时的他十分令人讨厌。
嘉莉摆好饭桌，端上饭菜。
“饭好了，”她说，从他身边走过去拿东西。
他没有答话，继续看报。
她进来后，坐在自己的位子上，很伤心。
“你现在不吃饭吗？”她问道。
他折起报纸，坐近了一些，但除了说“请递给我某某”之外，一直沉默不语。
“今天很阴冷，是吧？”过了一会儿，嘉莉开口说道。
“是的，”他说。
他只是毫无胃口地吃着饭。
“你们还是肯定非关店不可吗？”嘉莉说，大胆地提到他们经常讨论的话题。
“当然肯定罗，”他说，他那生硬的口气只是稍稍有一点缓和。
这句回答惹恼了嘉莉。她自己已经为此生了一天的闷气。
“你用不着那样说话，”她说。
“哦！”他叫了起来，从桌边朝后推了推座位，像是要再说些什么，但是就此算了。然后，他拿起了报纸。嘉莉离开了座位，她好不容易控制住了自己。他知道她伤心了。
“别走开，”当她动身回厨房时，他说。“吃你的饭吧。”她走了过去，没有答话。
他看了一会儿报纸，然后站起身来，穿上外套。
“我要到市区去，嘉莉，”他说着，走了出来。“今晚我心情不好。”她没有答话。
“别生气，”他说，“明天一切都会好的。”
他看着她，但是她不睬他，只顾洗她的盘子。
“再见！”最后他说，走了出去。
这是眼前的处境在他们之间第一次产生的强烈的后果。
然而，随着酒店关闭的日子的临近，忧郁几乎成了永久的东西。赫斯渥无法掩饰他对这事的感想。嘉莉不禁担心自己会向何处飘泊。这样一来，他们之间的谈话比平时更少，这倒并不是因为赫斯渥对嘉莉有什么不满，而是嘉莉要躲着他。这一点他注意到了。这倒引起了他对她的不满，因为她对他冷淡。
他把可能进行友好的交谈几乎当成了一项艰巨的任务，但是随后却发现，嘉莉的态度使得这项任务更加艰巨，更加不可能，这真令他不满。
终于，最后的一天到了。赫斯渥原以为这一天必定会有晴天霹雳和狂风骤雨，并已经作好了这种思想准备。可是，当这一天真的来临时，他发现也只是个平常的普通日子，很感欣慰。阳光灿烂，气温宜人。当他坐到早餐桌旁时，他发现这事终究并不怎么可怕。
“唉，”他对嘉莉说，“今天是我的末日。”对他的幽默，嘉莉报以一笑。
赫斯渥还是很愉快地浏览着报纸。他像是丢掉了一个包袱。
“我要去市区待一会儿，”早饭后他说，“然后我就去找找看，明天我一整天都要去找。现在酒店不用我管了，我想我能找到事干的。"他笑着出了门，去了酒店。肖内西在店里。他们办妥了一切手续，按照股份分配财产。可是，当他在那里耽搁了几个钟头，又出去待了三个钟头后再回到那里，他那兴奋劲没有了。
尽管他曾经很不满意这家酒店，但现在眼见它将不复存在，他还是感到难过。他真希望情况不是这样。
肖内西则十分冷静，毫不动情。
“喂，”他５点钟时说道，“我们最好把零钱数一数，分了吧。”他们这样做了。固定设备已经卖了，钱也分了。
“再见了，”赫斯渥在最后一刻说，最后一次想表现得友好一些。
“再见，”肖内西说，几乎不屑注意这个。
沃伦街的生意就这样永远做完了。
嘉莉在家里做了一顿丰盛的晚餐，可是，当赫斯渥坐车回来时，他看上去神情严肃，满腹心事。
“怎么样啦？”嘉莉询问道。
“我把事情办完了。”他答道，脱下外套。
她看着他，很想知道他现在的经济状况怎么样了。他们吃着饭，交谈了几句。
“你的钱够在别的酒店入股吗？”嘉莉问。
“不够，”他说。“我得找些别的事情做，攒起钱来。”“要是你能谋到一个职位就好了，”焦虑和希望促使嘉莉这样说道。
“我想我会的，”他若有所思地说。
这以后的一些日子里，每天早晨，他按时穿上大衣，动身出门。这样出门时，他总是自我安慰地想着，他手头有７００块钱，还是能够谈成什么有利的买卖的。他想到去找一些酿酒厂，据他所知，酿酒厂往往辖有出租的酒店，可以去找他们帮帮忙。然后，他想起他总得付出几百块钱买那些固定设备，这样一来，他就会没钱支付每月的费用了。现在他每个月差不多要花８０块钱的生活费。
“不行，”他在头脑清醒的时候说。“我不能这样做。我要找些别的事情做，攒起钱来。”一旦他开始考虑他究竟想做什么样的事情时，这个找些别的事情的计划就复杂化了。做经理吗？他能从哪里谋到这样的职位呢？报纸上没有招聘经理的启事。这种职位要不是靠多年的服务晋升而得，就是要出一半或者１A３的股份去买，对此，他是最清楚不过了。他可没有足够的钱去一个大到需要这样一个经理的酒店买个经理来做。
不过，他还是着手去找。他还是衣冠楚楚，外貌依旧很出众，但是这却带来了造成错觉的麻烦。一看见他，人们就会以为，像他这般年龄的人，身体结实且衣着得体，一定非常富有。
他看上去像是生活舒适的某个产业主，一般的人可以指望从他这样的人手里得到些赏钱。现在他已经四十有三，长得又福态，步行并不是件易事。他已经多年不习惯这样的运动了。虽然他几乎每去一处都乘坐有轨电车，但一天下来，他还是感到腿发软、肩发痛、脚发疼。单单上车下车，时间长了，也会产生这种后果的。
他十分清楚，人们看他外表上比实际上有钱。他非常痛苦地明白这一点，从而妨碍了他寻找机会。这倒不是说他希望自己外表看上去差一些，而是说他羞于提出与自己的外表不相称的要求。因此，他迟疑不决，不知怎么去做才好。
他想过去旅馆做事，但立刻想起自己在这方面毫无经验，而且，更重要的是，在这一行里，他没有熟人或朋友可投。在包括纽约在内的几个城市里，他的确认识一些旅馆主人，但是他们都知道他和费莫酒店的关系。他不能求职于他们。由那些他知道的大厦或大商店，他想到其它的一些行业，如批发杂货、五金器材、保险公司等等，但是这些他都没有经验。
考虑该怎样去谋职是件苦恼的事。他是否得亲自去询问，等在办公室门外，然后以这般高贵有钱的模样，宣布自己是来求职的？他费劲而痛苦地想着这个问题。不，他不能这么做。
他真的去四处奔走，一路思索着。然后，因为天气寒冷，走进了一家旅馆。他对旅馆很了解，知道任何体面的人都可以在门厅的椅子上坐一坐。这是在百老汇中央旅馆里，这家旅馆当时是纽约最重要的旅馆之一。来这里坐坐，对他来说是很不好受的。简直无法想象，他竟然会弄到这步田地！他听说过在旅馆里闲荡的人被叫作蹭座者。在他得意的时候，他自己也这样叫过他们。可是现在，尽管有可能会碰到某个熟人，他还是来到这里，待在这家旅馆的门厅里，一来避避寒，二来可免受街头奔波之苦。
“我这样做是不行的，”他对自己说，“不事先想好要去什么地方，天天早上就这样盲目动身出门是不管用的。我要想好一些地方，然后再去寻找。”他想起酒吧侍者的位置有时会有空缺，但是他又打消了这个念头。他这个过去的经理，去做个酒吧侍者？！
在旅馆的门厅里，越坐越觉得乏味透顶，于是他４点钟就回家了。他进门时，努力摆出个办正事的样子，但是装得不像。
餐室里的摇椅很是舒适。他拿着几份买来的报纸，高兴地在摇椅里坐下，开始看报。
当嘉莉穿过餐室去做晚饭时，她说：
“今天收房租的人来过了。”
“哦，是吗？”赫斯渥说。
他记起今天是２月２号，收房租的人总是这个时候来，于是稍稍皱起了眉头。他伸手到衣袋里摸钱包，第一次尝到了只出不进的滋味。他看着那一大卷绿钞票，活像一个病人看着一种能治好病的药。然后，他数出来２８块钱。
“给你，”当嘉莉再次走过时，他对她说。
他又埋头看起报来。啊，还可以享受一下别的事情--不用跑路、不用烦神。这些潮水般的电讯消息多像能令人忘却一切的忘川之水啊！他有些忘记自己的烦恼了。有一个年轻漂亮的女人，要是你相信报纸上的描述的话，控告她那在布鲁克林的富有、肥胖的糖果商丈夫，要求离婚。另一则消息详细地报道了斯塔腾岛的普林斯湾外一只船在冰雪中失事的经过。
有一个长而醒目的栏目，记载着戏剧界的活动--上演的剧目，登台的演员，戏院经理的布告。范尼·达文波特正在第五大道演出。戴利在上演《李尔王》。他看到消息说，范德比尔特一家和他们的朋友一行，早早就去了佛罗里达州度假。在肯塔基州山区发生了有趣的熗战。他就这样看呀，看呀，看呀，在温暖的房间里，坐在取暖炉边上的摇椅里摇晃着，等着开晚饭。
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Chapter 35 THE PASSING OF EFFORT: THE VISAGE OF CARE
The next morning he looked over the papers and waded through a long list of advertisements, making a few notes. Then he turned to the male-help-wanted column, but with disagreeable feelings. The day was before him -- a long day in which to discover something -- and this was how he must begin to discover. He scanned the long column, which mostly concerned bakers, bushel-men, cooks, compositors, drivers, and the like, finding two things only which arrested his eye. One was a cashier wanted in a wholesale furniture house, and the other a salesman for a whiskey house. He had never thought of the latter. At once he decided to look that up.
The firm in question was Alsbery & Co., whiskey brokers.
He was admitted almost at once to the manager on his appearance.
"Good-morning, sir," said the latter, thinking at first that he was encountering one of his out-of-town customers.
"Good-morning," said Hurstwood. "You advertised, I believe, for a salesman?"
"Oh," said the man, showing plainly the enlightenment which had come to him. "Yes. Yes, I did."
"I thought I'd drop in," said Hurstwood, with dignity. "I've had some experience in that line myself."
"Oh, have you?" said the man. "What experience have you had?"
"Well, I've managed several liquor houses in my time. Recently I owned a third-interest in a saloon at Warren and Hudson streets."
"I see," said the man.
Hurstwood ceased, waiting for some suggestion.
"We did want a salesman," said the man. "I don't know as it's anything you'd care to take hold of, though."
"I see," said Hurstwood. "Well, I'm in no position to choose, at present. If it were open, I should be glad to get it."
The man did not take kindly at all to his "No position to choose." He wanted some one who wasn't thinking of a choice or something better. Especially not an old man. He wanted some one young, active, and glad to work actively for a moderate sum. Hurstwood did not please him at all. He had more of an air than his employers.
"Well," he said in answer, "we'd be glad to consider your application. We shan't decide for a few days yet. Suppose you send us your references."
"I will," said Hurstwood.
He nodded good-morning and came away. At the corner he looked at the furniture company's address, and saw that it was in West Twenty-third Street. Accordingly, he went up there. The place was not large enough, however. It looked moderate, the men in it idle and small salaried. He walked by, glancing in, and then decided not to go in there.
"They want a girl, probably, at ten a week," he said.
At one o'clock he thought of eating, and went to a restaurant in Madison Square. There he pondered over places which he might look up. He was tired. It was blowing up grey again. Across the way, through Madison Square Park, stood the great hotels, looking down upon a busy scene. He decided to go over to the lobby of one and sit a while. It was warm in there and bright. He had seen no one he knew at the Broadway Central. In all likelihood he would encounter no one here. Finding a seat on one of the red plush divans close to the great windows which look out on Broadway's busy rout, he sat musing. His state did not seem so bad in here. Sitting still and looking out, he could take some slight consolation in the few hundred dollars he had in his purse. He could forget, in a measure, the weariness of the street and his tiresome searches. Still, it was only escape from a severe to a less severe state. He was still gloomy and disheartened. There, minutes seemed to go very slowly. An hour was a long, long time in passing. It was filled for him with observations and mental comments concerning the actual guests of the hotel, who passed in and out, and those more prosperous pedestrians whose good fortune showed in their clothes and spirits as they passed along Broadway, outside. It was nearly the first time since he had arrived in the city that his leisure afforded him ample opportunity to contemplate this spectacle. Now, being, perforce, idle himself, he wondered at the activity of others. How gay were the youths he saw, how pretty the women. Such fine clothes they all wore. They were so intent upon getting somewhere. He saw coquettish glances cast by magnificent girls. Ah, the money it required to train with such -- how well he knew! How long it had been since he had had the opportunity to do so!
The clock outside registered four. It was a little early, but he thought he would go back to the flat.
This going back to the flat was coupled with the thought that Carrie would think he was sitting around too much if he came home early. He hoped he wouldn't have to, but the day hung heavily on his hands. Over there he was on his own ground. He could sit in his rocking-chair and read. This busy, distracting, suggestive scene was shut out. He could read his papers. Accordingly, he went home. Carrie was reading, quite alone. It was rather dark in the flat, shut in as it was.
"You'll hurt your eyes," he said when he saw her.
After taking off his coat, he felt it incumbent upon him to make some little report of his day.
"I've been talking with a wholesale liquor company," he said. "I may go out on the road."
"Wouldn't that be nice!" said Carrie.
"It wouldn't be such a bad thing," he answered.
Always from the man at the corner now he bought two papers -- the "Evening World" and "Evening Sun." So now he merely picked his papers up, as he came by, without stopping.
He drew up his chair near the radiator and lighted the gas. Then it was as the evening before. His difficulties vanished in the items he so well loved to read.
The next day was even worse than the one before, because now he could not think of where to go. Nothing he saw in the papers he studied -- till ten o'clock -- appealed to him. He felt that he ought to go out, and yet he sickened at the thought. Where to, where to?
"You mustn't forget to leave me my money for this week," said Carrie, quietly.
They had an arrangement by which he placed twelve dollars a week in her hands, out of which to pay current expenses. He heaved a little sigh as she said this, and drew out his purse. Again he felt the dread of the thing. Here he was taking off, taking off, and nothing coming in.
"Lord!" he said, in his own thoughts, "this can't go on."
To Carrie he said nothing whatsoever. She could feel that her request disturbed him. To pay her would soon become a distressing thing.
"Yet, what have I got to do with it?" she thought. "Oh, why should I be made to worry?"
Hurstwood went out and made for Broadway. He wanted to think up some place. Before long, though, he reached the Grand Hotel at Thirty-first Street. He knew of its comfortable lobby. He was cold after his twenty blocks' walk.
"I'll go in their barber shop and get a shave," he thought.
Thus he justified himself in sitting down in here after his tonsorial treatment.
Again, time hanging heavily on his hands, he went home early, and this continued for several days, each day the need to hunt paining him, and each day disgust, depression, shamefacedness driving him into lobby idleness.
At last three days came in which a storm prevailed, and he did not go out at all. The snow began to fall late one afternoon. It was a regular flurry of large, soft, white flakes. In the morning it was still coming down with a high wind, and the papers announced a blizzard. From out the front windows one could see a deep, soft bedding.
"I guess I'll not try to go out to-day," he said to Carrie at breakfast. "It's going to be awful bad, so the papers say."
"The man hasn't brought my coal, either," said Carrie, who ordered by the bushel.
"I'll go over and see about it," said Hurstwood. This was the first time he had ever suggested doing an errand, but, somehow, the wish to sit about the house prompted it as a sort of compensation for the privilege.
All day and all night it snowed, and the city began to suffer from a general blockade of traffic. Great attention was given to the details of the storm by the newspapers, which played up the distress of the poor in large type.
Hurstwood sat and read by his radiator in the corner. He did not try to think about his need of work. This storm being so terrific, and tying up all things, robbed him of the need. He made himself wholly comfortable and toasted his feet.
Carrie observed his ease with some misgiving. For all the fury of the storm she doubted his comfort. He took his situation too philosophically.
Hurstwood, however, read on and on. He did not pay much attention to Carrie. She fulfilled her household duties and said little to disturb him.
The next day it was still snowing, and the next, bitter cold. Hurstwood took the alarm of the paper and sat still. Now he volunteered to do a few other little things. One was to go to the butcher, another to the grocery. He really thought nothing of these little services in connection with their true significance. He felt as if he were not wholly useless -- indeed, in such a stress of weather, quite worth while about the house.
On the fourth day, however, it cleared, and he read that the storm was over. Now, however, he idled, thinking how sloppy the streets would be.
It was noon before he finally abandoned his papers and got under way. Owing to the slightly warmer temperature the streets were bad. He went across Fourteenth Street on the car and got a transfer south on Broadway. One little advertisement he had, relating to a saloon down in Pearl Street. When he reached the Broadway Central, however, he changed his mind.
"What's the use?" he thought, looking out upon the slop and snow. "I couldn't buy into it. It's a thousand to one nothing comes of it. I guess I'll get off," and off he got. In the lobby he took a seat and waited again, wondering what he could do.
While he was idly pondering, satisfied to be inside, a well-dressed man passed up the lobby, stopped, looked sharply, as if not sure of his memory, and then approached. Hurstwood recognised Cargill, the owner of the large stables in Chicago of the same name, whom he had last seen at Avery Hall, the night Carrie appeared there. The remembrance of how this individual brought up his wife to shake hands on that occasion was also on the instant clear.
Hurstwood was greatly abashed. His eyes expressed the difficulty he felt.
"Why, it's Hurstwood!" said Cargill, remembering now, and sorry that he had not recognised him quickly enough in the beginning to have avoided this meeting.
"Yes," said Hurstwood. "How are you?"
"Very well," said Cargill, troubled for something to talk about. "Stopping here?"
"No," said Hurstwood, "just keeping an appointment."
"I knew you had left Chicago. I was wondering what had become of you."
"Oh, I'm here now," answered Hurstwood, anxious to get away.
"Doing well, I suppose?"
"Excellent."
"Glad to hear it."
They looked at one another, rather embarrassed.
"Well, I have an engagement with a friend upstairs. I'll leave you. So long."
Hurstwood nodded his head.
"Damn it all," he murmured, turning toward the door. "I knew that would happen."
He walked several blocks up the street. His watch only registered 1.30. He tried to think of some place to go or something to do. The day was so bad he wanted only to be inside. Finally his feet began to feel wet and cold, and he boarded a car. This took him to Fifty-ninth Street, which was as good as anywhere else. Landed here, he turned to walk back along Seventh Avenue, but the slush was too much. The misery of lounging about with nowhere to go became intolerable. He felt as if he were catching cold.
Stopping at a corner, he waited for a car south bound. This was no day to be out; he would go home.
Carrie was surprised to see him at a quarter of three.
"It's a miserable day out," was all he said. Then he took off his coat and changed his shoes.
That night he felt a cold coming on and took quinine. He was feverish until morning, and sat about the next day while Carrie waited on him. He was a helpless creature in sickness, not very handsome in a dull-coloured bath gown and his hair uncombed. He looked haggard about the eyes and quite old. Carrie noticed this, and it did not appeal to her. She wanted to be good-natured and sympathetic, but something about the man held her aloof.
Toward evening he looked so badly in the weak light that she suggested he go to bed.
"You'd better sleep alone," she said, "you'll feel better. I'll open your bed for you now."
"All right," he said.
As she did all these things, she was in a most despondent state.
"What a life! What a life!" was her one thought.
Once during the day, when he sat near the radiator, hunched up and reading, she passed through, and seeing him, wrinkled her brows. In the front room, where it was not so warm, she sat by the window and cried. This was the life cut out for her, was it? To live cooped up in a small flat with some one who was out of work, idle, and indifferent to her. She was merely a servant to him now, nothing more.
This crying made her eyes red, and when, in preparing his bed, she lighted the gas, and, having prepared it, called him in, he noticed the fact.
"What's the matter with you?" he asked, looking into her face. His voice was hoarse and his unkempt head only added to its grewsome quality.
"Nothing," said Carrie, weakly.
"You've been crying," he said.
"I haven't either," she answered.
It was not for love of him, that he knew.
"You needn't cry," he said, getting into bed. "Things will come out all right."
In a day or two he was up again, but rough weather holding, he stayed in. The Italian newsdealer now delivered the morning papers, and these he read assiduously. A few times after that he ventured out, but meeting another of his old-time friends, he began to feel uneasy sitting about hotel corridors.
Every day he came home early, and at last made no pretence of going anywhere. Winter was no time to look for anything.
Naturally, being about the house, he noticed the way Carrie did things. She was far from perfect in household methods and economy, and her little deviations on this score first caught his eye. Not, however, before her regular demand for her allowance became a grievous thing. Sitting around as he did, the weeks seemed to pass very quickly. Every Tuesday Carrie asked for her money.
"Do you think we live as cheaply as we might?" he asked one Tuesday morning.
"I do the best I can," said Carrie.
Nothing was added to this at the moment, but the next day he said:
"Do you ever go to the Gansevoort Market over here?"
"I didn't know there was such a market," said Carrie.
"They say you can get things lots cheaper there."
Carrie was very indifferent to the suggestion. These were things which she did not like at all.
"How much do you pay for a pound of meat?" he asked one day.
"Oh, there are different prices," said Carrie. "Sirloin steak is twenty-two cents."
"That's steep, isn't it?" he answered.
So he asked about other things, until finally, with the passing days, it seemed to become a mania with him. He learned the prices and remembered them.
His errand-running capacity also improved. It began in a small way, of course. Carrie, going to get her hat one morning, was stopped by him.
"Where are you going, Carrie?" he asked.
"Over to the baker's," she answered.
"I'd just as leave go for you," he said.
She acquiesced, and he went. Each afternoon he would go to the corner for the papers.
"Is there anything you want?" he would say.
By degrees she began to use him. Doing this, however, she lost the weekly payment of twelve dollars.
"You want to pay me to-day," she said one Tuesday, about this time.
"How much?" he asked.
She understood well enough what it meant.
"Well, about five dollars," she answered. "I owe the coal man."
The same day he said:
"I think this Italian up here on the corner sells coal at twenty-five cents a bushel. I'll trade with him."
Carrie heard this with indifference.
"All right," she said.
Then it came to be:
"George, I must have some coal to-day," or, "You must get some meat of some kind for dinner."
He would find out what she needed and order.
Accompanying this plan came skimpiness.
"I only got a half-pound of steak," he said, coming in one afternoon with his papers. "We never seem to eat very much."
These miserable details ate the heart out of Carrie. They blackened her days and grieved her soul. Oh, how this man had changed! All day and all day, here he sat, reading his papers. The world seemed to have no attraction. Once in a while he would go out, in fine weather, it might be four or five hours, between eleven and four. She could do nothing but view him with gnawing contempt.
It was apathy with Hurstwood, resulting from his inability to see his way out. Each month drew from his small store. Now, he had only five hundred dollars left, and this he hugged, half feeling as if he could stave off absolute necessity for an indefinite period. Sitting around the house, he decided to wear some old clothes he had. This came first with the bad days. Only once he apologised in the very beginning:
"It's so bad to-day, I'll just wear these around."
Eventually these became the permanent thing.
Also, he had been wont to pay fifteen cents for a shave, and a tip of ten cents. In his first distress, he cut down the tip to five, then to nothing. Later, he tried a ten-cent barber shop, and, finding that the shave was satisfactory, patronised regularly. Later still, he put off shaving to every other day, then to every third, and so on, until once a week became the rule. On Saturday he was a sight to see.
Of course, as his own self-respect vanished, it perished for him in Carrie. She could not understand what had gotten into the man. He had some money, he had a decent suit remaining, he was not bad looking when dressed up. She did not forget her own difficult struggle in Chicago, but she did not forget either that she had never ceased trying. He never tried. He did not even consult the ads. in the papers any more.
Finally, a distinct impression escaped from her.
"What makes you put so much butter on the steak?" he asked her one evening, standing around in the kitchen.
"To make it good, of course," she answered.
"Butter is awful dear these days," he suggested.
"You wouldn't mind it if you were working," she answered.
He shut up after this, and went in to his paper, but the retort rankled in his mind. It was the first cutting remark that had come from her.
That same evening, Carrie, after reading, went off to the front room to bed. This was unusual. When Hurstwood decided to go, he retired, as usual, without a light. It was then that he discovered Carrie's absence.
"That's funny," he said; "maybe she's sitting up."
He gave the matter no more thought, but slept. In the morning she was not beside him. Strange to say, this passed without comment.
Night approaching, and a slightly more conversational feeling prevailing, Carrie said:
"I think I'll sleep alone to-night. I have a headache."
"All right," said Hurstwood.
The third night she went to her front bed without apologies.
This was a grim blow to Hurstwood, but he never mentioned it.
"All right," he said to himself, with an irrepressible frown, "let her sleep alone."
第二天早晨，他浏览了一遍报纸，啃完了一长串广告，做了一些笔记。然后他去看招收男工的广告拦，但是心情很不愉快。又一天摆在他的面前--漫长的一天去寻找事做--而他就得这样开始。他扫了一眼那长长的广告栏，大多数是关于招收面包师、改衣工、厨师、排字工、车夫等等，只有两则引起他的注意，一则是一家家具批发行招聘一名出纳员，另一则是一家威士忌公司招聘一名推销员。他从未想过要做推销员。 他立即决定去那里看看。
那家公司叫阿尔斯伯里公司，经销威士忌。
他那副仪表堂堂的样子，几乎一到就被请去见经理。
“早安，先生，”经理说，起初以为面对的是一位外地的客户。
“早安，”赫斯渥说。“我知道你们登了报要招聘推销员，是吗？”“哦，”那人说道，明显地流露出恍然大悟的神情。“是的，是的，我是登了报。”“我想来应聘，”赫斯渥不失尊严地说，"我对这一行有一定的经验。”“哦，你有经验吗？”那人说，“你有些什么样的经验呢？”“喔，我过去当过几家酒店的经理。最近我在沃伦街和赫德森街拐角的酒店里有１A３的股权。”“我明白了，”那人说。
赫斯渥停住了，等着他发表意见。
“我们是曾想要个推销员，”那人说，“不过，我不知道这种事你是不是愿意做。”“我明白，”赫斯渥说，“可是，我眼下不能挑挑拣拣。倘若位置还空着，我很乐意接受。”那人很不高兴听到他说的“不能挑挑拣拣”的话。他想要一个不想挑拣或者不想找更好的事做的人。他不想要老头子。
他想要一个年轻、积极、乐于拿钱不多而能主动工作的人。他一点也不喜欢赫斯渥。赫斯渥比他的店东们还要神气些。
“好吧，”他回答说。“我们很高兴考虑你的申请。我们要过几天才能做出决定。你送一份履历表给我们吧。”“好的，”赫斯渥说。
他点头告别后，走了出来。在拐角处，他看看那家家具行的地址，弄清楚是在西二十三街。他照着这个地址去了那里。
可是这家店并不太大，看上去是家中等店铺，里面的人都闲着而且薪水很少。他走过时朝里面扫了一眼，随后就决定不进去了。
“大概他们要一个周薪１０块钱的姑娘，”他说。
１点钟时，他想吃饭了，便走进麦迪逊广场的一家餐馆。
在那里，他考虑着可以去找事做的地方。他累了。又刮起了寒风。在对面，穿过麦迪逊广场公园，耸立着那些大旅馆，俯瞰着热闹的街景。他决定过到那边去，在一家旅馆的门厅里坐一会儿。那里面又暖和又亮堂。他在百老汇中央旅馆没有遇见熟人。十有八九，在这里也不会遇见熟人的。他在大窗户旁边的一只红丝绒长沙发上坐了下来，窗外看得见百老汇大街的喧闹景象，他坐在那里想着心事。在这里，他觉得自己的处境似乎还不算太糟。静静地坐在那里看着窗外，他可以从他的钱包里那几百块钱中找到一点安慰。他可以忘掉一些街上奔波的疲乏和四处找寻的劳累。可是，这只不过是从一个严峻的处境逃到一个不太严峻的处境罢了。他仍旧愁眉不展，灰心丧气。
在这里，一分钟一分钟似乎过得特别慢。一个钟头过去需要很长很长的时间。在这一个钟头里，他忙着观察和评价那些进进出出的这家旅馆的真正旅客，以及旅馆外面百老汇大街上来往的那些更加有钱的行人，这些人都是财运当头，这从他们的衣着和神情上就看得出来。自他到纽约以来，这差不多是他第一次有这么多的空闲来欣赏这样的场面。现在他自己被迫闲了下来，都不知道别人在忙乎些什么了。他看到的这些青年多么快乐，这些女人多么漂亮埃他们的衣着全都是那么华丽。
他们都那么急着要赶到什么地方去。他看见美丽动人的姑娘抛出卖弄风情的眼色。啊，和这些人交往得要多少金钱--他太清楚了！他已经很久没有机会这样生活了！
外面的时钟指到４点。时候稍稍早了一点，但是他想要回公寓了。
一想到回公寓，他又连带想到，要是他回家早了，嘉莉会认为他在家闲坐的时间太多了。他希望自己不用早回去，可是这一天实在是太难熬了。回到家里他就自在了。他可以坐在摇椅里看报纸。这种忙碌、分心、使人引起联想的场面就被挡在了外面。他可以看看报纸。这样一想，他就回家了。嘉莉在看书，很是孤单。房子周围被遮住了，里面很暗。
“你会看坏眼睛的，”他看见她时说。
脱下外套后，他觉得自己应该谈一点这一天的情况。
“我和一家酒类批发公司谈过了，”他说，“我可能出去搞推销。”“那不是很好嘛！”嘉莉说。
“还不算太坏，”他回答。
最近他总是向拐角上的那个人买两份报纸--《世界晚报》和《太阳晚报》。所以，他现在走过那里时，直接拿起报纸就走，不必停留了。
他把椅子挪近取暖炉，点燃了煤气。于是，一切又像头天晚上一样。他的烦恼消失在那些他特别爱看的新闻里。
第二天甚至比前一天更糟，因为这时他想不出该去哪里。
他研究报纸研究到上午１０点钟，还是没有看中一件他愿意做的事情。他觉得自己该出去了，可是一想到这个就感到恶心。
到哪里去，到哪里去呢？
“你别忘了给我这星期要用的钱，”嘉莉平静地说。
他们约定，每星其他交到她手上１２块钱，用作日常开支。
她说这话时，他轻轻地叹了一口气，拿出了钱包。他再次感到了这事的可怕。他就这样把钱往外拿，往外拿，没有分文往里进的。
“老天爷！”他心里想着，“可不能这样下去埃”对嘉莉他却什么也没说。她能够感觉到她的要求令他不安了。要他给钱很快就会成为一件难受的事情了。
“可是，这和我有什么关系呢？”她想，“唉，为什么要让我为此烦恼呢？”赫斯渥出了门，朝百老汇大街走去。他想找一个什么可去的地方。没有多久，他就来到了座落在三十一街的宏大旅馆。
他知道这家旅馆有个舒适的门厅。走过了二十条横马路，他感到冷了。
“我去他们的理发间修个面吧，”他想。
享受了理发师的服务后，他就觉得自己有权利在那里坐下了。
他又觉得时间难捱了，便早早回了家。连续几天都是这样，每天他都为要出去找事做而痛苦不堪，每天他都要为厌恶、沮丧、害羞所迫，去门厅里闲坐。
最后是三天的风雪天，他干脆没有出门。雪是从一天傍晚开始下的。雪不停地下着，雪片又大又软又白。第二天早晨还是风雪交加，报上说将有一场暴风雪。从前窗向外看得见一层厚厚的、软软的雪。
“我想我今天就不出去了，”早饭时，他对嘉莉说。“天气将会很糟，报纸上这么说的。”“我叫的煤也还没有人给送来，”嘉莉说，她的煤是论蒲式耳叫的。
“我过去问问看，”赫斯渥说。主动提出要做点家务事，这在他还是第一次，然而不知怎么地，他想坐在家里的愿望促使他这样说，作为享受坐在家里的权利的某种补偿。
雪整天整夜地下着。城里到处都开始发生交通堵塞。报纸大量报道暴风雪的详情，用大号铅字渲染穷人的疾苦。
赫斯渥在屋角的取暖炉边坐着看报。他不再考虑需要找工作的事。这场可怕的暴风雪，使一切都陷于瘫痪，他也无需去找工作了。他把自己弄得舒舒服服的，烤着他的两只脚。
看到他这样悠闲自得，嘉莉不免有些疑惑。她表示怀疑，不管风雪多么狂暴，他也不应该显得这般舒服。他对自己的处境看得也太达观了。
然而，赫斯渥还是继续看呀，看呀。他不大留意嘉莉。她忙着做家务，很少说话打搅他。
第二天还在下雪，第三天严寒刺骨。赫斯渥听了报纸的警告，坐在家里不动。现在他自愿去做一些其它的小事。一次是去肉铺，另一次是去杂货店。他做这些小事时，其实根本没有去想这些事本身有什么真正的意义。他只是觉得自己还不是毫无用处。的确，在这样恶劣的天气，待在家里还是很有用的。
可是，第四天，天放晴了，他从报上知道暴风雪过去了。而他这时还在闲散度日，想着街上该有多么泥泞。
直到中午时分，他才终于放下报纸，动身出门。由于气温稍有回升，街上泥泞难行。他乘有轨电车穿过十四街，在百老汇大街转车朝南。他带着有关珍珠街一家酒店的一则小广告。
可是，到了百老汇中央旅馆，他却改变了主意。
“这有什么用呢？”他想，看着车外的泥浆和积雪。“我不能投资入股。十有八九是不会有什么结果的。我还是下车吧。”于是他就下了车。他又在旅馆的门厅里坐了下来，等着时间消逝，不知自己能做些什么。
能呆在室内，他感到挺满足。正当他闲坐在那里遐想时，一个衣冠楚楚的人从门厅里走过，停了下来，像是拿不准是否记得清楚，盯着看了看，然后走上前来。赫斯渥认出他是卡吉尔，芝加哥一家也叫做卡吉尔的大马厩的主人。他最后一次见到他是在阿佛莱会堂，那天晚上嘉莉在那里演出。他还立刻想起了这个人那次带太太过来和他握手的情形。
赫斯渥大为窘迫。他的眼神表明他感到很难堪。
“喔，是赫斯渥呀！”卡吉尔说，现在他记起来了，懊悔开始没有很快认出他来，好避开这次会面。
“是呀，”赫斯渥说。“你好吗？”
“很好，”卡吉尔说，为不知道该说些什么而犯愁。“住在这里吗？”“不，”赫斯渥说，“只是来这里赴个约。”“我只知道你离开了芝加哥。我一直想知道，你后来情况怎么样了。”“哦，我现在住在纽约，”赫斯渥答道，急着要走开。
“我想，你干得不错吧。”
“好极了。”
“很高兴听到这个。”
他们相互看了看，很是尴尬。
“噢，我和楼上一个朋友有个约会。我要走了。再见。”赫斯渥点了点头。
“真该死，”他嘀咕着，朝门口走去。“我知道这事会发生的。”他沿街走过几条横马路。看看表才指到１点半。他努力想着去个什么地方或者做些什么事情。天其实在太糟了，他只想躲到室内去。终于他开始感到两脚又湿又冷，便上了一辆有轨电车，他被带到了五十九街，这里也和其它地方一样。他在这里下了车，转身沿着第七大道往回走，但是路上泥泞不堪。
在大街上到处闲逛又无处可去的痛苦，使他受不住了。他觉得自己像是要伤风了。
他在一个拐角处停下来，等候朝南行驶的有轨电车。这绝对不是出门的天气，他要回家了。
嘉莉见他３点差１刻就回来了，很吃惊。
“这种天出门太糟糕，”他只说了这么一句。然后，他脱下外套，换了鞋子。
那天晚上，他觉得是在伤风了，便吃了些奎宁。直到第二天早晨，他还有些发热，整个一天就坐在家里，由嘉莉伺候着。
他生病时一副可怜样，穿着颜色暗淡的浴衣，头发也不梳理，就不怎么漂亮了。他的眼圈边露出憔悴，人也显得苍老。嘉莉看到这些，心里感到不快。她想表示温存和同情，但是这个男人身上有某种东西使得她不愿和他亲近。
傍晚边上，在微弱的灯光下，他显得非常难看，她便建议他去睡觉。
“你最好一个人单独睡，”她说，“这样你会感到舒服一些。
我现在就去给你起床。”
“好吧，”他说。
她在做着这些事情时，心里十分难受。
“这是什么样的生活！这是什么样的生活！”她脑子里只有这一个念头。
有一次，是在白天，当他正坐在取暖炉边弓着背看报时，她穿过房间，见他这样，就邹起了眉头。在不太暖和的前房间里，她坐在窗边哭了起来。这难道就是她命中注定的生活吗？
就这样被关鸽子笼一般的小房子里，和一个没有工作、无所事事而且对她漠不关心的人生活在一起？现在她只是他的一个女仆，仅此而已。
她这一哭，把眼睛哭红了。起床时，她点亮了煤气灯，铺好床后，叫他进来，这时他注意到了这一点。
“你怎么啦？”他问道，盯着她的脸看。他的声音嘶哑，加上他那副蓬头垢面的样子，听起来很可怕。
“没什么，”嘉莉有气无力地说。
“你哭过了，”他说。
“我没哭，”她回答。
不是因为爱他而哭的，这一点他明白。
“你没必要哭的，”他说着，上了床。“情况会变好的。”一两天后，他起床了，但天气还是恶劣，他只好待在家里。
那个卖报的意大利人现在把报纸送上门来，这些报纸他看得十分起劲。在这之后，他鼓足勇气出去了几次，但是又遇见了一个从前的朋友。他开始觉得闲坐在旅馆的门厅里时心神不安了。
他每天都早早回家，最后索性也不假装要去什么地方了。
冬天不是找事情做的时候。
待在家里，他自然注意到了嘉莉是怎样做家务的。她太不善于料理家务和精打细算了，她在这方面的不足第一次引起他的注意。不过，这是在她定期要钱用变得难以忍受之后的事。他这样闲坐在家，一星期又一星期好像过得非常快。每到星期二嘉莉就向他要钱。
“你认为我们过得够节省了吗？”一个星期二的早晨，他问道。
“我是尽力了，”嘉莉说。
当时他没再说什么，但是第二天，他说：“你去过那边的甘斯沃尔菜场吗？”“我不知道有这么个菜场，”嘉莉说。
“听说那里的东西要便宜得多。”
对这个建议，嘉莉的反应十分冷淡。这种事她根本就不感兴趣。
“你买肉多少钱一磅？”一天，他问道。
“哦，价格不一样，”嘉莉说“牛腰肉２毛５分１镑。”“那太贵了，不是吗？”他回答。
就这样，他又问了其它的东西，日子久了，最终这似乎变成了他的一种癖好。他知道了价格并且记住了。
他做家务事的能力也有所提高。当然是从小事做起的。一天早晨，嘉莉正要去拿帽子，被他叫住了。
“你要去哪里，嘉莉？”他问。
“去那边的面包房，”她回答。
“我替你去好吗？”他说。
她默许了，他就去了。每天下午，他都要到街角去买报纸。
“你有什么要买的吗？”他会这样说。
渐渐地，她开始使唤其他来。可是，这样一来，她就拿不到每星期那１２块钱了。
“你今天该给我钱了，”大约就在这个时候，一个星期二，她说。
“给多少？”他问。
她非常清楚这句话的意思。
“这个，５块钱左右吧，”她回答。“我欠了煤钱。”同一天，他说：“我知道街角上的那个意大利人的煤卖２毛５分一蒲式耳。我去买他的煤。"嘉莉听到这话，无动于衷。
“好吧，”她说。
然后，情况就变成了：
“乔治，今天得买煤了。”或者“你得去买些晚饭吃的肉了。”他会问明她需要什么，然后去采购。
随着这种安排而来的是吝啬。
“我只买了半磅牛排，”一天下午，他拿着报纸进来时说。
“我们好像一向吃得不太多。”
这些可悲的琐事，使嘉莉的心都要碎了。它们使她的生活变得黑暗，心灵感到悲痛。唉，这个人变化真大啊！日复一日，他就这么坐在家里，看他的报纸。这个世界看来丝毫引不其他的兴趣。天气晴好的时候，他偶尔地会出去一下，可能出去四五个钟头，在１１点到４点之间。除了痛苦地鄙视他之外，她对他毫无办法。
由于没有办法找到出路，赫斯渥变得麻木不仁。每个月都要花掉一些他那本来就很少的积蓄。现在，他只剩下５００块钱了，他紧紧地攥住这点钱不放，好像这样就能无限期地推迟赤期的到来。坐在家里不出门，他决定穿上他的一些旧衣服。起先是在天气不好的时候。最初这样做的时候，他作了辩解。
“今天天气真糟，我在家里就穿这些吧。”最终这些衣服就一直穿了下去。
还有，他一向习惯于付１角５分钱修一次面，另付１角钱小费。他在刚开始感到拮据的时候，把小费减为５分，然后就分文不给了。后来，他去试试一家只收１角钱的理发店，发现修面修得还可以，就开始经常光顾那里。又过了些时候，他把修面改为隔天一次，然后是三天一次，这样下去，直到规定为每周一次。到了星期六，他那副样子可就够瞧的了。
当然，随着他的自尊心的消失，嘉莉也失去了对他的尊重。她无法理解这个人是怎么想的。他还有些钱，他还有体面的衣服，打扮起来他还是很漂亮的。她没有忘记自己在芝加哥的艰苦挣扎，但是她也没有忘记自己从不停止奋斗，他却从不奋斗，他甚至连报上的广告都不再看了。
终于，她忍不住了，毫不含糊地说出了她自己的想法。
“你为什么在牛排上抹这么多的黄油？”一天晚上，他闲站在厨房里，问她。
“当然是为了做得好吃一些啦，”她回答。
“这一阵子黄油可是贵得吓人，”他暗示道。
“倘若你有工作的话，你就不会在乎这个了，”她回答。
他就此闭上了嘴，回去看报了，但是这句反驳的话刺痛了他的心。这是从她的口里说出来的第一句尖刻的话。
当晚，嘉莉看完报以后就去前房间睡觉，这很反常。当赫斯渥决定去睡时，他像往常一样，没点灯就上了床。这时他才发现嘉莉不在。
“真奇怪，”他说，“也许她要迟点睡。”
他没再想这事，就睡了。早晨她也不在他的身边。说来奇怪，这件事竟没人谈起，就这么过去了。
夜晚来临时，谈话的气氛稍稍浓了一些，嘉莉说：“今晚我想一个人睡。我头痛。”“好吧，”赫斯渥说。
第三夜，她没找任何借口，就去前房间的床上睡了。
这对赫斯渥是个冷酷的打击，但他从不提起这事。
“好吧，”他对自己说，忍不住皱紧了眉头。“就让她一个人睡吧。”
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Chapter 36 A GRIM RETROGRESSION: THE PHANTOM OF CHANCE
The Vances, who had been back in the city ever since Christmas, had not forgotten Carrie; but they, or rather Mrs. Vance, had never called on her, for the very simple reason that Carrie had never sent her address. True to her nature, she corresponded with Mrs. Vance as long as she still lived in Seventy-eighth Street, but when she was compelled to move into Thirteenth, her fear that the latter would take it as an indication of reduced circumstances caused her to study some way of avoiding the necessity of giving her address. Not finding any convenient method, she sorrowfully resigned the privilege of writing to her friend entirely. The latter wondered at this strange silence, thought Carrie must have left the city, and in the end gave her up as lost. So she was thoroughly surprised to encounter her in Fourteenth Street, where she had gone shopping. Carrie was there for the same purpose.
"Why, Mrs. Wheeler," said Mrs. Vance, looking Carrie over in a glance, "where have you been? Why haven't you been to see me? I've been wondering all this time what had become of you. Really, I-"
"I'm so glad to see you," said Carrie, pleased and yet nonplussed. Of all times, this was the worst to encounter Mrs. Vance. "Why, I'm living down town here. I've been intending to come and see you. Where are you living now?"
"In Fifty-eighth Street," said Mrs. Vance, "just off Seventh Avenue -- 218. Why don't you come and see me?"
"I will," said Carrie. "Really, I've been wanting to come. I know I ought to. It's a shame. But you know-"
"What's your number?" said Mrs. Vance.
"Thirteenth Street," said Carrie, reluctantly. "112 West."
"Oh," said Mrs. Vance, "that's right near here, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Carrie. "You must come down and see me some time."
"Well, you're a fine one," said Mrs. Vance, laughing, the while noting that Carrie's appearance had modified somewhat. "The address, too," she added to herself. "They must be hard up."
Still she liked Carrie well enough to take her in tow.
"Come with me in here a minute," she exclaimed, turning into a store.
When Carrie returned home, there was Hurstwood, reading as usual. He seemed to take his condition with the utmost nonchalance. His beard was at least four days old.
"Oh," thought Carrie, "if she were to come here and see him?"
She shook her head in absolute misery. It looked as if her situation was becoming unbearable.
Driven to desperation, she asked at dinner:
"Did you ever hear any more from that wholesale house?"
"No," he said. "They don't want an inexperienced man."
Carrie dropped the subject, feeling unable to say more.
"I met Mrs. Vance this afternoon," she said, after a time.
"Did, eh?" he answered.
"They're back in New York now," Carrie went on. "She did look so nice."
"Well, she can afford it as long as he puts up for it," returned Hurstwood. "He's got a soft job."
Hurstwood was looking into the paper. He could not see the look of infinite weariness and discontent Carrie gave him.
"She said she thought she'd call here some day."
"She's been long getting round to it, hasn't she?" said Hurstwood, with a kind of sarcasm.
The woman didn't appeal to him from her spending side.
"Oh, I don't know," said Carrie, angered by the man's attitude. "Perhaps I didn't want her to come."
"She's too gay," said Hurstwood, significantly. "No one can keep up with her pace unless they've got a lot of money."
"Mr. Vance doesn't seem to find it very hard."
"He may not now," answered Hurstwood, doggedly, well understanding the inference; "but his life isn't done yet. You can't tell what'll happen. He may get down like anybody else."
There was something quite knavish in the man's attitude. His eye seemed to be cocked with a twinkle upon the fortunate, expecting their defeat. His own state seemed a thing apart -- not considered.
This thing was the remains of his old-time cocksureness and independence. Sitting in his flat, and reading of the doings of other people, sometimes this independent, undefeated mood came upon him. Forgetting the weariness of the streets and the degradation of search, he would sometimes prick up his ears. It was as if he said:
"I can do something. I'm not down yet. There's a lot of things coming to me if I want to go after them."
It was in this mood that he would occasionally dress up, go for a shave, and, putting on his gloves, sally forth quite actively. Not with any definite aim. It was more a barometric condition. He felt just right for being outside and doing something.
On such occasions, his money went also. He knew of several poker rooms down town. A few acquaintances he had in downtown resorts and about the City Hall. It was a change to see them and exchange a few friendly commonplaces.
He had once been accustomed to hold a pretty fair hand at poker. Many a friendly game had netted him a hundred dollars or more at the time when that sum was merely sauce to the dish of the game -- not the all in all. Now, he thought of playing.
"I might win a couple of hundred. I'm not out of practice."
It is but fair to say that this thought had occurred to him several times before he acted upon it.
The poker room which he first invaded was over a saloon in West Street, near one of the ferries. He had been there before. Several games were going. These he watched for a time and noticed that the pots were quite large for the ante involved.
"Deal me a hand," he said at the beginning of a new shuffle. He pulled up a chair and studied his cards. Those playing made that quiet study of him which is so unapparent, and yet invariably so searching.
Poor fortune was with him at first. He received a mixed collection without progression or pairs. The pot was opened.
"I pass," he said.
On the strength of this, he was content to lose his ante. The deals did fairly by him in the long run, causing him to come away with a few dollars to the good.
The next afternoon he was back again, seeking amusement and profit. This time he followed up three of a kind to his doom. There was a better hand across the table, held by a pugnacious Irish youth, who was a political hanger-on of the Tammany district in which they were located. Hurstwood was surprised at the persistence of this individual, whose bets came with a sang-froid which, if a bluff, was excellent art. Hurstwood began to doubt, but kept, or thought to keep, at least, the cool demeanour with which, in olden times, he deceived those psychic students of the gaming table, who seem to read thoughts and moods, rather than exterior evidences, however subtle. He could not down the cowardly thought that this man had something better and would stay to the end, drawing his last dollar into the pot, should he choose to go so far. Still, he hoped to win much -- his hand was excellent. Why not raise it five more?
"I raise you three," said the youth.
"Make it five," said Hurstwood, pushing out his chips.
"Come again," said the youth, pushing out a small pile of reds.
"Let me have some more chips," said Hurstwood to the keeper in charge, taking out a bill.
A cynical grin lit up the face of his youthful opponent. When the chips were laid out, Hurstwood met the raise.
"Five again," said the youth.
Hurstwood's brow was wet. He was deep in now -- very deep for him. Sixty dollars of his good money was up. He was ordinarily no coward, but the thought of losing so much weakened him. Finally he gave way. He would not trust to this fine hand any longer.
"I call," he said.
"A full house!" said the youth, spreading out his cards.
Hurstwood's hand dropped.
"I thought I had you," he said, weakly.
The youth raked in his chips, and Hurstwood came away, not without first stopping to count his remaining cash on the stair.
"Three hundred and forty dollars," he said.
With this loss and ordinary expenses, so much had already gone.
Back in the flat, he decided he would play no more.
Remembering Mrs. Vance's promise to call, Carrie made one other mild protest. It was concerning Hurstwood's appearance. This very day, coming home, he changed his clothes to the old togs he sat around in.
"What makes you always put on those old clothes?" asked Carrie.
"What's the use wearing my good ones around here?" he asked.
"Well, I should think you'd feel better." Then she added: "Some one might call."
"Who?" he said.
"Well, Mrs. Vance," said Carrie.
"She needn't see me," he answered, sullenly.
This lack of pride and interest made Carrie almost hate him.
"Oh," she thought, "there he sits. 'She needn't see me.' I should think he would be ashamed of himself."
The real bitterness of this thing was added when Mrs. Vance did call. It was on one of her shopping rounds. Making her way up the commonplace hall, she knocked at Carrie's door. To her subsequent and agonising distress, Carrie was out. Hurstwood opened the door, half-thinking that the knock was Carrie's. For once, he was taken honestly aback. The lost voice of youth and pride spoke in him.
"Why," he said, actually stammering, "how do you do?"
"How do you do?" said Mrs. Vance, who could scarcely believe her eyes. His great confusion she instantly perceived. He did not know whether to invite her in or not.
"Is your wife at home?" she inquired.
"No," he said, "Carrie's out; but won't you step in? She'll be back shortly."
"No-o," said Mrs. Vance, realising the change of it all. "I'm really very much in a hurry. I thought I'd just run up and look in, but I couldn't stay. Just tell your wife she must come and see me."
"I will," said Hurstwood, standing back, and feeling intense relief at her going. He was so ashamed that he folded his hands weakly, as he sat in the chair afterwards, and thought.
Carrie, coming in from another direction, thought she saw Mrs. Vance going away. She strained her eyes, but could not make sure.
"Was anybody here just now?" she asked of Hurstwood.
"Yes," he said guiltily; "Mrs. Vance."
"Did she see you?" she asked, expressing her full despair.
This cut Hurstwood like a whip, and made him sullen.
"If she had eyes, she did. I opened the door."
"Oh," said Carrie, closing one hand tightly out of sheer nervousness. "What did she have to say?"
"Nothing," he answered. "She couldn't stay."
"And you looking like that!" said Carrie, throwing aside a long reserve.
"What of it?" he said, angering. "I didn't know she was coming, did I?"
"You knew she might," said Carrie. "I told you she said she was coming. I've asked you a dozen times to wear your other clothes. Oh, I think this is just terrible."
"Oh, let up," he answered. "What difference does it make? You couldn't associate with her, anyway. They've got too much money."
"Who said I wanted to?" said Carrie, fiercely.
"Well, you act like it, rowing around over my looks. You'd think I'd committed-"
Carrie interrupted:
"It's true," she said. "I couldn't if I wanted to, but whose fault is it? You're very free to sit and talk about who I could associate with. Why don't you get out and look for work?"
This was a thunderbolt in camp.
"What's it to you?" he said, rising, almost fiercely. "I pay the rent, don't I? I furnish the-"
"Yes, you pay the rent," said Carrie. "You talk as if there was nothing else in the world but a flat to sit around in. You haven't done a thing for three months except sit around and interfere here. I'd like to know what you married me for?"
"I didn't marry you," he said, in a snarling tone.
"I'd like to know what you did, then, in Montreal?" she answered.
"Well, I didn't marry you," he answered. "You can get that out of your head. You talk as though you didn't know."
Carrie looked at him a moment, her eyes distending. She had believed it was all legal and binding enough.
"What did you lie to me for, then?" she asked, fiercely. "What did you force me to run away with you for?"
Her voice became almost a sob.
"Force!" he said, with curled lip. "A lot of forcing I did."
"Oh!" said Carrie, breaking under the strain, and turning. "Oh, oh!" and she hurried into the front room.
Hurstwood was now hot and waked up. It was a great shaking up for him, both mental and moral. He wiped his brow as he looked around, and then went for his clothes and dressed. Not a sound came from Carrie; she ceased sobbing when she heard him dressing. She thought, at first, with the faintest alarm, of being left without money -- not of losing him, though he might be going away permanently. She heard him open the top of the wardrobe and take out his hat. Then the dining-room door closed, and she knew he had gone.
After a few moments of silence, she stood up, dry-eyed, and looked out the window. Hurstwood was just strolling up the street, from the flat, toward Sixth Avenue.
The latter made progress along Thirteenth and across Fourteenth Street to Union Square.
"Look for work!" he said to himself. "Look for work! She tells me to get out and look for work."
He tried to shield himself from his own mental accusation, which told him that she was right.
"What a cursed thing that Mrs. Vance's call was, anyhow," he thought. "Stood right there, and looked me over. I know what she was thinking."
He remembered the few times he had seen her in Seventy-eighth Street. She was always a swell-looker, and he had tried to put on the air of being worthy of such as she, in front of her. Now, to think she had caught him looking this way. He wrinkled his forehead in his distress.
"The devil!" he said a dozen times in an hour.
It was a quarter after four when he left the house. Carrie was in tears. There would be no dinner that night.
"What the deuce," he said, swaggering mentally to hide his own shame from himself. "I'm not so bad. I'm not down yet."
He looked around the square, and seeing the several large hotels, decided to go to one for dinner. He would get his papers and make himself comfortable there.
He ascended into the fine parlour of the Morton House, then one of the best New York hotels, and, finding a cushioned seat, read. It did not trouble him much that his decreasing sum of money did not allow of such extravagance. Like the morphine fiend, he was becoming addicted to his ease. Anything to relieve his mental distress, to satisfy his craving for comfort. He must do it. No thoughts for the morrow -- he could not stand to think of it any more than he could of any other calamity. Like the certainty of death, he tried to shut the certainty of soon being without a dollar completely out of his mind, and he came very near doing it.
Well-dressed guests moving to and fro over the thick carpets carried him back to the old days. A young lady, a guest of the house, playing a piano in an alcove pleased him. He sat there reading.
His dinner cost him $1.50. By eight o'clock he was through, and then, seeing guests leaving and the crowd of pleasure-seekers thickening outside, wondered where he should go. Not home. Carrie would be up. No, he would not go back there this evening. He would stay out and knock around as a man who was independent -- not broke -- well might. He bought a cigar, and went outside on the corner where other individuals were lounging -- brokers, racing people, thespians -- his own flesh and blood. As he stood there, he thought of the old evenings in Chicago, and how he used to dispose of them. Many's the game he had had. This took him to poker.
"I didn't do that thing right the other day," he thought, referring to his loss of sixty dollars. "I shouldn't have weakened. I could have bluffed that fellow down. I wasn't in form, that's what ailed me."
Then he studied the possibilities of the game as it had been played, and began to figure how he might have won, in several instances, by bluffing a little harder.
"I'm old enough to play poker and do something with it. I'll try my hand to-night."
Visions of a big stake floated before him. Supposing he did win a couple of hundred, wouldn't he be in it? Lots of sports he knew made their living at this game, and a good living, too.
"They always had as much as I had," he thought.
So off he went to a poker room in the neighbourhood, feeling much as he had in the old days. In this period of self-forgetfulness, aroused first by the shock of argument and perfected by a dinner in the hotel, with cocktails and cigars, he was as nearly like the old Hurstwood as he would ever be again. It was not the old Hurstwood -- only a man arguing with a divided conscience and lured by a phantom.
This poker room was much like the other one, only it was a back room in a better drinking resort. Hurstwood watched a while, and then, seeing an interesting game, joined in. As before, it went easy for a while, he winning a few times and cheering up, losing a few pots and growing more interested and determined on that account. At last the fascinating game took a strong hold on him. He enjoyed its risks and ventured, on a trifling hand, to bluff the company and secure a fair stake. To his self-satisfaction intense and strong, he did it.
In the height of this feeling he began to think his luck was with him. No one else had done so well. Now came another moderate hand, and again he tried to open the jack-pot on it. There were others there who were almost reading his heart, so close was their observation.
"I have three of a kind," said one of the players to himself. "I'll just stay with the fellow to the finish."
The result was that bidding began.
"I raise you ten."
"Good."
"Ten more."
"Good."
"Ten again."
"Right you are."
It got to where Hurstwood had seventy-five dollars up. The other man really became serious. Perhaps this individual (Hurstwood) really did have a stiff hand.
"I call," he said.
Hurstwood showed his hand. He was done. The bitter fact that he had lost seventy-five dollars made him desperate.
"Let's have another pot," he said, grimly.
"All right," said the man.
Some of the other players quit, but observant loungers took their places. Time passed, and it came to twelve o'clock. Hurstwood held on, neither winning nor losing much. Then he grew weary, and on a last hand lost twenty more. He was sick at heart.
At a quarter after one in the morning he came out of the place. The chill, bare streets seemed a mockery of his state. He walked slowly west, little thinking of his row with Carrie. He ascended the stairs and went into his room as if there had been no trouble. It was his loss that occupied his mind. Sitting down on the bedside he counted his money. There was now but a hundred and ninety dollars and some change. He put it up and began to undress.
"I wonder what's getting into me, anyhow?" he said.
In the morning Carrie scarcely spoke, and he felt as if he must go out again. He had treated her badly, but he could not afford to make up. Now desperation seized him, and for a day or two, going out thus, he lived like a gentleman -- or what he conceived to be a gentleman -- which took money. For his escapades he was soon poorer in mind and body, to say nothing of his purse, which had lost thirty by the process. Then he came down to cold, bitter sense again.
"The rent man comes to-day," said Carrie, greeting him thus indifferently three mornings later.
"He does?"
"Yes; this is the second," answered Carrie.
Hurstwood frowned. Then in despair he got out his purse.
"It seems an awful lot to pay for rent," he said.
He was nearing his last hundred dollars.
圣诞节一过，万斯夫妇就回到了纽约，他们没有忘记嘉莉。但是他们，或者更确切地说，万斯太太却从未去拜访过她，原因很简单，嘉莉没有写信告知自己的地址。按她的性格，当她还住在七十八街时，倒是一直和万斯太太通信的。可是当她被迫搬进十三街以后，她害怕万斯太太会认为这意味着他们处境艰难，因而就想方设法不透露她的新住址。由于想不出什么合适的办法，她只好忍痛割爱，干脆就不给她的朋友写信了。万斯太太感到奇怪，怎么会这样音信全无，以为嘉莉一定是离开了这座城市，最后就当她失踪了，不再去想她。因此，当她到十四街去买东西，碰见嘉莉也在那里买东西时，着实吃了一惊。 “哎呀，惠勒太太，”万斯太太说，从头到脚扫了嘉莉一眼，“你去哪里了？为什么你不来看我？我一直在想，不知你的情况怎么样了。真的，我--”“看见你我太高兴了，”嘉莉说，既高兴又为难。什么时候不好，偏偏赶个时候碰到万斯太太，真是再糟不过了。“呃，我就住在这一带。我一直想来看你。你现在住在哪里？”“五十八街，”万斯太太说，“就在第七大道过去--二百一十八号。你为什么不来看我呢？”“我会来的，”嘉莉说道。“真的，我一直想来。我知道我应该来的。真是遗憾。可是，你知道-—”“你的门牌号码是什么？”万斯太太问。
“十三街，”嘉莉很不情愿地说，“西一百一十二号。”“喔，”万斯太太说，”那就在这附近，是不是？”“是的，”嘉莉说，“你什么时候一定要过来看我埃”“好的，你是个好人，”万斯太太笑着说，这时她注意到嘉莉的外表有了一些变化。“这个地址也很说明问题，”她又对自己说，“他们一定是手头拮据了。”不过她还是非常喜欢嘉莉，总想照顾她。
“跟我一起进来一下吧，”她大声说，转身走进一家商店。
当嘉莉回到家时，赫斯渥还是像往常一样，在那里看报纸。他似乎对自己处境完全无动于衷，他至少有四天没刮胡子了。
“唉，”嘉莉想，“要是她来这里看见他这个样子，会怎么想呢？”她摇了摇头，心里难受极了。看来她的处境已经变得无法忍受了。
她被逼急了，吃晚饭的时候问道：
“那家批发行有什么消息给你吗？”
“没有，”他说。“他们不要没有经验的人。”嘉莉不再谈论这个话题，觉得谈不下去了。
“今天下午，我遇见了万斯太太。”过了一会儿，她说。
“喔，是吗？”他回答。
“现在他们已经回到了纽约，”嘉莉继续说道，“她打扮得真是漂亮。”“哦，只要她丈夫肯为此花钱，她就打扮得起，”赫斯渥回答。“他有份轻松的工作。”赫斯渥在盯着报纸看。他看不见嘉莉投向他的无限疲惫和不满的眼神。
“她说她想什么时候来这里看看我们。”
“她过了很久才想起这个，是不是？”赫斯渥带着一种挖苦的口气说。
他不喜欢这个女人，因为她太会花钱。
“哦，这我就不知道了，”嘉莉说，这个人的态度激怒了她。
“也许，我并不想要她来。”
“她太会享受了，”赫斯渥说，意味深长。“除非很有钱，否则谁也伺候不了她。”“万斯先生看来并不觉得这有多难。”“他眼下可能还不难，”赫斯渥固执地答道，十分明白这话的意思。“可是他的日子还早着呢。谁也说不准会发生些什么事情。他也可能会像其他人一样地垮下来。"这个人的态度真有点无赖的味道。他像是用发亮的眼睛斜睨着那些幸运的人，巴望着他们失败。他自己的处境则好像是件无关的事，不在考虑之内。
这是他从前的过于自信和独立精神残留在他身上的东西。他坐在家里，从报上看着别人的活动，有时就会产生这种自以为是、不肯服输的心情。一旦忘记了在街上到处奔波的疲劳感和四处寻找的落魄相时，他有时就会竖起耳朵，仿佛听见自己在说：“我还是有事可做的。我还没有完蛋呢。只要我愿意下劲去找，会找到很多事情做的。”就在这样的心情下，他偶尔会打扮整齐，去修一下面，然后戴上手套，兴冲冲地动身出门。没有任何明确的目标。这更像是晴雨表上的变化。他只是觉得这时想出门去做些什么事情。
这种时候他的钱也要被花去一些。他知道市区的几家赌常他在市区的酒店里和市政厅附近有几个熟人。去看看他们，友好地拉几句家常话，这也是一种调剂。
他曾经打得一手好扑克。有很多次和朋友玩牌，他净赢了１００多块钱，当时这笔钱只不过是为玩牌助助兴，没什么大不了的。现在，他又想玩牌了。
“我也许会赢它个２００块钱。我还没有荒疏。”公道一些说，他是在有过好几次这样的想法之后才付诸行动的。
他第一次去的那家赌场是在西街一家酒店的楼上，靠近一个渡口。他以前去过那里。同时有几桌牌在打。他观察了一会儿，就每次发牌前下的底注来看，牌局的输赢数目是很可观的。
“给我发一副牌，”在新的一局开始时，他说，他拉过来一把椅子，研究着手上的牌。那些玩牌的人默默地打量着他，虽然很不明显，但却十分仔细。
开始时，他的手气不好。他拿到了一副杂牌，既没有顺子，也没有对子。开局了。
“我不跟，”他说。
照他手上的这副牌，他宁愿输掉他所下的底注。打到后来，他的手气还不错，最终他赢了几块钱离开了。
次日下午，他又来了，想找点乐趣并赢些钱。这一次，他拿到一副三条的牌，坚持打了下去，结果输得很惨。和他对桌的是一个好斗的爱尔兰青年。此人是当地坦慕尼派控制的选区的一个政治食客，他手里有一副更好的牌。这个家伙打牌时咬住对方不放，这使赫斯渥吃了一惊。他连连下注而且不动声色，如果他是要诱使对方摊牌，这种手段也是很高明的。赫斯渥开始拿不准了，但是还保持着至少是想要保持着镇定的神态，从前他就是凭这个来骗过那些工于心计的赌徒的。这些赌徒似乎是在琢磨对方的思想和心情，而不是在观察对方外表的迹象，不管这些迹象有多微妙。他克服不了内心的胆怯，想着这人是有着一副更好的牌，会坚持到底，倘若他愿意的话，会把最后的一块钱也放入赌注的。可是，他还是希望能多赢点钱--他手上的牌好极了。为什么不再加５块钱的注呢？
“我加你３块钱，”那个青年说。
“我加５块，”赫斯渥说，推出他的筹码。
“照样加倍，”那个青年说，推出一小摞红色筹码。
“给我再来些筹码，”赫斯渥拿出一张钞票，对负责的管理员说。
他那个年轻的对手的脸上露出了讥讽的冷笑。等筹码摆到面前，赫斯渥照加了赌注。
“再加５块，”那个青年说。
赫斯渥的额头开始冒汗了。这时他已经深深地陷了进去--对他来说，陷得非常深了。他那点宝贵的钱已经放上了整整６０块。他平常并不胆小，但是想到可能输掉这么多钱，他变得懦弱了。终于，他放弃了。他不再相信手里的这副好牌了。
“摊牌吧，”他说。
“三条对子，”那个青年说，摊出手上的牌。
赫斯渥的牌落了下来。
“我还以为我赢了你呢，”他有气无力地说。
那个青年收进了他的筹码，赫斯渥便离开了，没忘记先在楼梯上停下来数了数剩下的现钞。
“３４０块钱，”他说。
这次输的钱，加上平常的开支，已经花去了很多。
回到公寓后，他下定决心不再玩牌。
嘉莉还记着万斯太太说的要来拜访的话，又温和地提了一次抗议，是有关赫斯渥的外表的。就在这一天，回到家后，他又换上了闲坐在家时穿的旧衣服。
“你为什么总是穿着这些旧衣服呢？”嘉莉问道。
“在家里穿那些好衣服有什么用呢？”他反问。
“喔，我以为那样你会感觉好一些的。”然后她又加了一句。“可能会有人来看我们。”“谁？”他说。
“噢，万斯太太，”嘉莉说。
“她用不着来看我，”他绷着脸说道。
他如此缺乏自尊和热情，弄得嘉莉几乎要恨他了。
“嗬，”她想，“他就那么坐着，说什么‘她用不着来看我。'我看他是羞于见人。“当万斯太太真的来拜访时，事情可就更糟了。她是有一次出来买东西的时候来的。她一路穿过简陋的过道，在嘉莉家的房门上敲了敲。嘉莉出去了，为此她事后感到十分悲伤。赫斯渥开了门，还以为是嘉莉回来了。这一次，他可是真正地大吃了一惊。他心里听到的是那已经失去青春和自尊的声音。
“哎呀，”他说，真的有些结结巴巴，“你好啊？”“你好，”万斯太太说，几乎不相信自己的眼睛。她马上就看出他十分慌乱。他不知道是否要请她进来。
“你太太在家吗？”她问。
“不在，”他说，“嘉莉出去了，不过请进来好吗？她很快就会回来的。”“不，不啦，”万斯太太说，意识到一切都变了。“我真的很忙。我只是想跑上来看一眼，不能耽搁的。请告诉你太太，叫她一定来看我。”“好的，”赫斯渥说着，朝后站了站，听见她说要走，心里不知有多轻松。他太羞愧了。事后他就无精打采地坐在椅子里，两手交叉，沉思着。
嘉莉从另一个方向回来，好像看见万斯太太正在朝外走。
她就瞪大两眼看着，但还是拿不准。
“刚才有人来过吗？”她问赫斯渥。
“是的，”他内疚地说，“万斯太太来过。”“她看见你了吗？”她问，流露出彻底的绝望。
这话像鞭子一样抽痛了赫斯渥，他不高兴了。
“如果她长了眼睛，她会看见的。是我开的门。”“啊，”嘉莉说，因为过分紧张而握紧了一只拳头。“她说了些什么？”“没说什么，”他回答。“她说她不能耽搁。”“而你就是这么一副模样？”嘉莉说，一反长期的克制。
“这副模样怎么啦？”他说着，动怒了。“我不知道她要来，是不是？”“可你知道她可能会来的，”嘉莉说，“我告诉过你她说她要来的。我请你穿上别的衣服已经不下十几次了。哦，我看这事太可怕了。”“唉，别说了吧，”他答道，“这又有什么关系呢？反正你也不能再和她交往了。他们太有钱了。”“谁说我要和她交往来着？”嘉莉恶狠狠地说。
“可是，你做得像是要和她来往，为我的这副模样大吵大闹。人家都要以为我犯了--”嘉莉打断了他的话。
“的确如此，”她说，“即便我想要和她交往，我也不可能做到，可这是谁的错呢？你倒是闲得很，坐在这里谈论我能和谁交往。你为什么不出去找工作呢？”这真是晴天霹雳。
“这和你有什么关系？”他说着，气势汹汹地站起身来。“我付了房租，不是吗？我提供了--”“是呀，你付了房租，”嘉莉说，“照你这么说来，好像这个世界上除了有一套公寓可以在里面闲坐之外，再没有其它任何东西了。三个月来，你除了闲坐在家里碍手碍脚之外，一事无成。我倒要问问你，你为什么要娶我？”“我没有娶你，”他咆哮着说。
“那么，我问你，你在蒙特利尔干的什么事？”她说。
“好啦，我没有娶你，”他回答。“你可以把这事忘了。听你的口气，好像你不知道似的。”嘉莉瞪大两眼，看了他一会儿。她一直以为他们的婚姻是完全合法和有约束力的。
“那么，你为什么要骗我？”她气愤地问，“你为什么要强迫我和你私奔？”她几乎在啜泣了。
“强迫？”他翘起嘴唇说。“我才没有强迫你呢！”“啊！”嘉莉说着，转过身去，压抑了这么久终于发作了。
“啊，啊！”她跑进了前房间。
这时的赫斯渥又气恼又激动。这在精神上和道德上对他都是一个极大的震动。他四下看看，擦擦额头的汗，然后去找来衣服穿上了。嘉莉那边一点声音也没有，当她听到他在穿衣服时就停止了啜泣。开始，她感到一丝惊恐，想到自己会身无分文地被抛弃--而不是想到会失去他，尽管他可能会一去不复返。她听到他打开衣柜盖，取出帽子。然后，餐室的门关上了，她知道他走了。
寂静了一会儿之后，她站起身来，已经没有了眼泪，她朝窗外看去。赫斯渥正在沿街溜达，从公寓朝第六大道走去。
赫斯渥沿着十三街朝前走，穿过十四街来到联合广常“找工作！”他自言自语，“找工作！她叫我出去找工作！”他想逃避自己内心的谴责，他内心清楚她是对的。
“不管怎么说，万斯太太这次来访真是件该死的事，”他想，“就那么站着，上下打量着我，我知道她在想些什么。”他回想起在七十八街见过她的那几次。她总是打扮得十分漂亮，在她面前，他还曾努力摆出和她不相上下的神气。而现在，竟让她撞见自己这副模样，真是无法想象。他难过地皱起了眉头。
“活见鬼！”一个钟头里，他这样说了十几次。
他离开家时是４点１刻。嘉莉还在哭泣。今天不会有晚饭吃了。
“真见鬼，”他说，心里在说着大话以掩饰自己的羞愧。“我还没那么糟。我还没完蛋呢。”他望望广场四周，看见了那几家大旅馆，决定去其中的一家吃晚饭。他要买好报纸，去那里享受一下。
他走进莫顿饭店豪华的休息室，当时这是纽约最好的旅馆之一，找到一把铺着座垫的椅子，坐下来看报纸。这般奢侈不是他那越来越少的钱所能允许的，但这并不怎么使他感到不安。就像吗啡鬼一样，他对贪图安乐上了瘾。只要能解除他精神上的痛苦，满足他对舒适的渴求，什么事他都做得出。他必须这样做。他才不去想什么明天--他一想到明天就受不了，正如他不愿去想别的灾难一样。就像对待死亡的必将到来一样，他要彻底忘掉身无分文的日子马上就要到来，而且还几乎做到了这一点。
那些在厚厚的地毯上来回走动的衣冠楚楚的客人们，把他带回到过去的日子。一位年轻太太，这家饭店的一个客人，正在一间凹室里弹钢琴，使他感到很愉快。他坐在那里看着报纸。
他的这顿饭花了他１块５毛钱。到了８点钟，他吃完了饭。然后，看着客人们陆续离去，外面寻欢作乐的人渐渐增多，他不知自己该去哪里。不能回家，嘉莉可能还没睡。不，今晚他是不会回到那里去的。他要呆在外面，四处游荡，就像一个无牵无挂的--当然不是破产的--人很可能做的那样。他买了一支雪茄，走了出来，来到拐角处。有一些人在那里闲荡，掮客、赛马迷、演员，都是些和他同类的人。他站在那里，想起过去在芝加哥的那些夜晚。想起了自己是怎么度过那些夜晚的。他赌博的次数真多。这使他想到了扑克。
“那天我打得不对，”他想，指他那次输了６０块钱。“我不应该软的。我本可以继续下注唬倒那个家伙。我的竞技状态不佳，我输就输在这一点上。”于是，他照着上次的打法，研究起那局牌的种种可能性，开始算计着如何在吓唬对方时再狠一点，那样的话，有好几次，他都可能会赢的。
“我打扑克是老手了，可以玩些花样。今夜我要再去试试手气。”一大堆赌注的幻象浮现在他的眼前。假如他真的能赢它个２００块钱，他岂能不去玩玩？他认识的很多赌徒就是以此为生的，而且还过得很不错呢。
“他们手头的钱总是和我现在的钱差不多的，”他想。
于是，他朝附近的一家赌场走去，感觉和从前一样好。这段时间里他忘掉了自我，起初是由于受到争吵的震动，后来在旅馆里喝着鸡尾酒，抽着雪茄烟，吃了顿晚饭，使他更加忘乎所以。他差不多就像那个他总想恢复的昔日的赫斯渥一样了。
但是这不是昔日的赫斯渥，只是一个内心矛盾不安，受到幻象诱惑的人而已。
这家赌场和那一家差不多，只是它设在一家高级一些的酒店的密室里。赫斯渥先旁观了一会儿，然后看见了一局有趣的牌，就加入了。就像上次一样，开始一阵子打得很顺手，他赢了几次，兴奋起来，又输了几次，兴趣更大了，因此决心玩下去。最终，这个迷人的赌博把他牢牢地拴住了。他喜欢其中的风险，手上拿着一副小牌，也敢吓唬对方，想赢一笔可观的赌注。使他深感满意的是，他还真的赢了。
在这个情绪高涨的时候，他开始以为自己时来运转了。谁也没有他打得好。这时又拿到了一副很普通的牌，他又想靠这副牌开叫大注。那里有些人像是看出了他的心思，他们观察得非常仔细。
“我有个三条，”其中的一个赌徒在心里说。“我就要和那个家伙斗到底。”结果是开始加注了。
“我加你１０块。”
“好的。”
“再加１０块。”
“好的。”
“再加１０块。”
“很好。”
这样一加下来，赫斯渥已经放上了７５块钱。这时，那个人变得严肃起来。他想也许这个人（赫斯渥）真有一副硬牌呢。
“摊牌吧，”他说。
赫斯渥亮出了牌。他完蛋了。他输了７５块钱，这个惨痛的事实弄得他要拼命了。
“我们再来一局，”他冷冷地说。
“行啊，”那人说。
有些赌徒退出了，但是旁观的一些游手好闲的人又顶了上来，时间在消逝，到１２点了。赫斯渥坚持了下来，赢得不多，输得也不多。然后他感到疲倦了。在最后的一副牌上，又输了２０块钱。他很伤心。
第二天凌晨１点１刻时，他走出了这家赌常冷嗖嗖、空荡荡的街道仿佛在讥笑他的处境。他向西慢慢地走着，没怎么去想和嘉莉的争吵。他上了楼梯，走进自己的房间，好像什么事情也没有发生过。他心里想的只是他那输掉的钱。在床边坐下来，他数了数钱。现在只有１９０块和一些零钱了。他把钱收好后，开始脱衣服。
“我不知道我这究竟是怎么啦？”他说。
早晨，嘉莉几乎一声不吭，他觉得似乎又必须出去了。他待她不好，但他又不愿意主动赔不是。现在他感到绝望了。于是，有一两天这样出去后，他过得像个绅士--或者说他以为自己像个绅士--又花了钱。由于这些越轨的行动，他很快感到身心交困，更不用说他的钱包了，那里面的钱也随之又少了３０块。然后，他又恢复了冷静、痛苦的感觉。
“收房租的人今天要来，”三天早晨以后，嘉莉这样冷淡地迎着他说。
“是吗？”
“是的，今天是２号。”嘉莉回答。
赫斯渥邹起了眉头。然后，他无可奈何地拿出了钱包。
“付房租看来要花很多的钱，”他说。
他差不多只剩下最后的１００块钱了。
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Chapter 37 THE SPIRIT AWAKENS: NEW SEARCH FOR THE GATE
It would be useless to explain how in due time the last fifty dollars was in sight. The seven hundred, by his process of handling, had only carried them into June. Before the final hundred mark was reached he began to indicate that a calamity was approaching."I don't know," he said one day, taking a trivial expenditure for meat as a text, "it seems to take an awful lot for us to live."
"It doesn't seem to me," said Carrie, "that we spend very much."
"My money is nearly gone," he said, "and I hardly know where it's gone to."
"All that seven hundred dollars?" asked Carrie.
"All but a hundred."
He looked so disconsolate that it scared her. She began to see that she herself had been drifting. She had felt it all the time.
"Well, George," she exclaimed, "why don't you get out and look for something? You could find something."
"I have looked," he said. "You can't make people give you a place."
She gazed weakly at him and said: "Well, what do you think you will do? A hundred dollars won't last long."
"I don't know," he said. "I can't do any more than look."
Carrie became frightened over this announcement. She thought desperately upon the subject. Frequently she had considered the stage as a door through which she might enter that gilded state which she had so much craved. Now, as in Chicago, it came as a last resource in distress. Something must be done if he did not get work soon. Perhaps she would have to go out and battle again alone.
She began to wonder how one would go about getting a place. Her experience in Chicago proved that she had not tried the right way. There must be people who would listen to and try you -- men who would give you an opportunity.
They were talking at the breakfast table, a morning or two later, when she brought up the dramatic subject by saying that she saw that Sarah Bernhardt was coming to this country. Hurstwood had seen it, too.
"How do people get on the stage, George?" she finally asked, innocently.
"I don't know," he said. "There must be dramatic agents."
Carrie was sipping coffee, and did not look up.
"Regular people who get you a place?"
"Yes, I think so," he answered.
Suddenly the air with which she asked attracted his attention.
"You're not still thinking about being an actress, are you?" he asked.
"No," she answered, "I was just wondering."
Without being clear, there was something in the thought which he objected to. He did not believe any more, after three years of observation, that Carrie would ever do anything great in that line. She seemed too simple, too yielding. His idea of the art was that it involved something more pompous. If she tried to get on the stage she would fall into the hands of some cheap manager and become like the rest of them. He had a good idea of what he meant by them. Carrie was pretty. She would get along all right, but where would he be?
"I'd get that idea out of my head, if I were you. It's a lot more difficult than you think."
Carrie felt this to contain, in some way, an aspersion upon her ability.
"You said I did real well in Chicago," she rejoined.
"You did," he answered, seeing that he was arousing opposition, "but Chicago isn't New York, by a big jump."
Carrie did not answer this at all. It hurt her.
"The stage," he went on, "is all right if you can be one of the big guns, but there's nothing to the rest of it. It takes a long while to get up."
"Oh, I don't know," said Carrie, slightly aroused.
In a flash, he thought he foresaw the result of this thing. Now, when the worst of his situation was approaching, she would get on the stage in some cheap way and forsake him. Strangely, he had not conceived well of her mental ability. That was because he did not understand the nature of emotional greatness. He had never learned that a person might be emotionally -- instead of intellectually -- great. Avery Hall was too far away for him to look back and sharply remember. He had lived with this woman too long.
"Well, I do," he answered. "If I were you I wouldn't think of it. It's not much of a profession for a woman."
"It's better than going hungry," said Carrie. "If you don't want me to do that, why don't you get work yourself?"
There was no answer ready for this. He had got used to the suggestion.
"Oh, let up," he answered.
The result of this was that she secretly resolved to try. It didn't matter about him. She was not going to be dragged into poverty and something worse to suit him. She could act. She could get something and then work up. What would he say then? She pictured herself already appearing in some fine performance on Broadway; of going every evening to her dressing-room and making up. Then she would come out at eleven o'clock and see the carriages ranged about, waiting for the people. It did not matter whether she was the star or not. If she were only once in, getting a decent salary, wearing the kind of clothes she liked, having the money to do with, going here and there as she pleased, how delightful it would all be. Her mind ran over this picture all the day long. Hurstwood's dreary state made its beauty become more and more vivid.
Curiously this idea soon took hold of Hurstwood. His vanishing sum suggested that he would need sustenance. Why could not Carrie assist him a little until he could get something?
He came in one day with something of this idea in his mind.
"I met John B. Drake to-day," he said. "He's going to open a hotel here in the fall. He says that he can make a place for me then."
"Who is he?" asked Carrie.
"He's the man that runs the Grand Pacific in Chicago."
"Oh," said Carrie.
"I'd get about fourteen hundred a year out of that."
"That would be good, wouldn't it?" she said, sympathetically.
"If I can only get over this summer," he added, "I think I'll be all right. I'm hearing from some of my friends again."
Carrie swallowed this story in all its pristine beauty. She sincerely wished he could get through the summer. He looked so hopeless.
"How much money have you left?"
"Only fifty dollars."
"Oh, mercy," she exclaimed, "what will we do? It's only twenty days until the rent will be due again."
Hurstwood rested his head on his hands and looked blankly at the floor.
"Maybe you could get something in the stage line?" he blandly suggested.
"Maybe I could," said Carrie, glad that some one approved of the idea.
"I'll lay my hand to whatever I can get," he said, now that he saw her brighten up. "I can get something."
She cleaned up the things one morning after he had gone, dressed as neatly as her wardrobe permitted, and set out for Broadway. She did not know that thoroughfare very well. To her it was a wonderful conglomeration of everything great and mighty. The theatres were there -- these agencies must be somewhere about.
She decided to stop in at the Madison Square Theatre and ask how to find the theatrical agents. This seemed the sensible way. Accordingly, when she reached that theatre she applied to the clerk at the box office.
"Eh?" he said, looking out. "Dramatic agents? I don't know. You'll find them in the 'Clipper,' though. They all advertise in that."
"Is that a paper?" said Carrie.
"Yes," said the clerk, marvelling at such ignorance of a common fact. "You can get it at the news-stands," he added politely, seeing how pretty the inquirer was.
Carrie proceeded to get the "Clipper," and tried to find the agents by looking over it as she stood beside the stand. This could not be done so easily. Thirteenth Street was a number of blocks off, but she went back, carrying the precious paper and regretting the waste of time.
Hurstwood was already there, sitting in his place.
"Where were you?" he asked.
"I've been trying to find some dramatic agents."
He felt a little diffident about asking concerning her success. The paper she began to scan attracted his attention.
"What have you got there?" he asked.
"The 'Clipper.' The man said I'd find their addresses in here."
"Have you been all the way over to Broadway to find that out? I could have told you."
"Why didn't you?" she asked, without looking up.
"You never asked me," he returned.
She went hunting aimlessly through the crowded columns. Her mind was distracted by this man's indifference. The difficulty of the situation she was facing was only added to by all he did. Self-commiseration brewed in her heart. Tears trembled along her eyelids but did not fall. Hurstwood noticed something.
"Let me look."
To recover herself she went into the front room while he searched. Presently she returned. He had a pencil, and was writing upon an envelope.
"Here're three," he said.
Carrie took it and found that one was Mrs. Bermudez, another Marcus Jenks, a third Percy Weil. She paused only a moment, and then moved toward the door.
"I might as well go right away," she said, without looking back.
Hurstwood saw her depart with some faint stirrings of shame, which were the expression of a manhood rapidly becoming stultified. He sat a while, and then it became too much. He got up and put on his hat.
"I guess I'll go out," he said to himself, and went, strolling nowhere in particular, but feeling somehow that he must go.
Carrie's first call was upon Mrs. Bermudez, whose address was quite the nearest. It was an old-fashioned residence turned into offices. Mrs. Bermudez's offices consisted of what formerly had been a back chamber and a hall bedroom, marked "Private."
As Carrie entered she noticed several persons lounging about -- men, who said nothing and did nothing.
While she was waiting to be noticed, the door of the hall bedroom opened and from it issued two very mannish-looking women, very tightly dressed, and wearing white collars and cuffs. After them came a portly lady of about forty-five, light-haired, sharp-eyed, and evidently good-natured. At least she was smiling.
"Now, don't forget about that," said one of the mannish women.
"I won't," said the portly woman. "Let's see," she added, "where are you the first week in February?"
"Pittsburg," said the woman.
"I'll write you there."
"All right," said the other, and the two passed out.
Instantly the portly lady's face became exceedingly sober and shrewd. She turned about and fixed on Carrie a very searching eye.
"Well," she said, "young woman, what can I do for you?"
"Are you Mrs. Bermudez?"
"Yes."
"Well," said Carrie, hesitating how to begin, "do you get places for persons upon the stage?"
"Yes."
"Could you get me one?"
"Have you ever had any experience?"
"A very little," said Carrie.
"Whom did you play with?"
"Oh, with no one," said Carrie. "It was just a show gotten-"
"Oh, I see," said the woman, interrupting her. "No, I don't know of anything now."
Carrie's countenance fell.
"You want to get some New York experience," concluded the affable Mrs. Bermudez. "We'll take your name, though."
Carrie stood looking while the lady retired to her office.
"What is your address?" inquired a young lady behind the counter, taking up the curtailed conversation.
"Mrs. George Wheeler," said Carrie, moving over to where she was writing. The woman wrote her address in full and then allowed her to depart at her leisure.
She encountered a very similar experience in the office of Mr. Jenks, only he varied it by saying at the close: "If you could play at some local house, or had a programme with your name on it, I might do something."
In the third place the individual asked:
"What sort of work do you want to do?"
"What do you mean?" said Carrie.
"Well, do you want to get in a comedy or on the vaudeville stage or in the chorus?"
"Oh, I'd like to get a part in a play," said Carrie.
"Well," said the man, "it'll cost you something to do that."
"How much?" said Carrie, who, ridiculous as it may seem, had not thought of this before.
"Well, that's for you to say," he answered shrewdly.
Carrie looked at him curiously. She hardly knew how to continue the inquiry.
"Could you get me a part if I paid?"
"If we didn't you'd get your money back."
"Oh," she said.
The agent saw he was dealing with an inexperienced soul, and continued accordingly.
"You'd want to deposit fifty dollars, anyway. No agent would trouble about you for less than that."
Carrie saw a light.
"Thank you," she said. "I'll think about it."
She started to go, and then bethought herself.
"How soon would I get a place?" she asked.
"Well, that's hard to say," said the man. "You might get one in a week, or it might be a month. You'd get the first thing that we thought you could do."
"I see," said Carrie, and then, half-smiling to be agreeable, she walked out.
The agent studied a moment, and then said to himself:
"It's funny how anxious these women are to get on the stage."
Carrie found ample food for reflection in the fifty-dollar proposition. "Maybe they'd take my money and not give me anything," she thought. She had some jewelry -- a diamond ring and pin and several other pieces. She could get fifty dollars for those if she went to a pawnbroker.
Hurstwood was home before her. He had not thought she would be so long seeking.
"Well?" he said, not venturing to ask what news.
"I didn't find out anything to-day," said Carrie, taking off her gloves. "They all want money to get you a place."
"How much?" asked Hurstwood.
"Fifty dollars."
"They don't want anything, do they?"
"Oh, they're like everybody else. You can't tell whether they'd ever get you anything after you did pay them."
"Well, I wouldn't put up fifty on that basis," said Hurstwood, as if he were deciding, money in hand.
"I don't know," said Carrie. "I think I'll try some of the managers."
Hurstwood heard this, dead to the horror of it. He rocked a little to and fro, and chewed at his finger. It seemed all very natural in such extreme states. He would do better later on.
毋须解释怎么会过了一段时间，就眼见得只剩下最后的５０块钱了。由他来理财，那７００块钱只将他们维持到了６月份。快到只剩下最后的１００块钱的时候，他开始提及即将临头的灾难。“我真不懂，”一天，他以一小笔买肉的开支为借口说，“看来我们过日子的确要花很多的钱。”“依我看，”嘉莉说，“我们花得并不太多。”“我的钱就要花完了，”他说，“而且我几乎不知道钱都花到哪里去了。”“那７００块钱都要花完了吗？”嘉莉问道。
“就只剩下１００块钱了。”
他看上去情绪很坏，吓了她一跳。她这时感到自己也是漂泊不定。她一直都有这种感觉。
“喂，乔治，”她叫道，“为什么你不出去找些事做呢？你可以找到事的。”“我找过了，”他说，“你总不能强迫人家给你个职位吧。”她无力地望着他说：“那么，你想怎么办呢？１００块钱可用不了多久。”“我不知道，”他说，“除了找找看，我也没有别的办法。”这句话让嘉莉感到惊恐了。她苦苦地想着这个问题。她过去常常认为舞台是通向她十分渴望的金色世界的门户。现在，就像在芝加哥一样，舞台又成为她危难之中的最后希望。
如果他不能很快找到工作，就必须另想办法。也许她又得出去孤身奋斗了。
她开始考虑该怎样着手去找事做。她在芝加哥的经验证明她以前的找法不对。肯定会有人愿意听你的请求，试用你的。有人会给你一个机会的。
过了一两天，他们在早餐桌上谈话时，她提到了戏剧，说是她看到萨拉·伯恩哈特要来美国的消息。赫斯渥也看到了这条消息。
“人家是怎样当上演员的，乔治？”她终于天真地问。
“我不知道，”他说，“肯定是通过剧团代理人吧。”嘉莉在呷着咖啡，头也没抬。
“是些专门代人找工作的人吗？”
“是的，我想是这样的，”他回答道。
突然，她问话的神情引起了他的注意。
“莫非你还在想着当演员，是吗？”他问。
“不，”她回答，“我只是搞不懂罢了。”
他也不大清楚为什么，但他对这种想法有些不赞成。观察了三年以后，他不再相信嘉莉会在这一行里有多大的成功。她似乎太单纯、太温顺了。他对戏剧艺术的看法认为艺术包含着某种更为浮夸的东西。倘若她想当演员，就会落入某个卑鄙的经理的手中，变得和那帮人一样。他十分了解他所指的那帮人。嘉莉长得漂亮，她会混得不错，可是他该置身何处呢？
“要是我是你的话，我就不打这个注意。那比你想的要难得多。”嘉莉觉得这话多少含有贬低她的才能的意思。
“可你说过我在芝加哥的演出确实不错，”她反驳说。
“你是演得不错，”他回答，看出他已经激起了反感。“但是芝加哥远远不同于纽约。”对此，嘉莉根本不答理。这话太让她伤心了。
“演戏这事嘛，”他接着说，“倘若你能成为名角，是不错的，但是对其他人来说就不怎样了。要想成名，得花很长的时间。”“哦，这我可不知道，”嘉莉说，有点激动了。
刹那间，他觉得他已经预见到了这件事的结局。现在，他已临近山穷水尽，而她要通过某种不光彩的途径当上演员，把他抛弃。奇怪的是，他从不往好处去想她的智力。这是因为他不会从本质上理解感情的伟大。他从来就不知道一个人可能会在感情上很伟大，而不是在知识上。阿佛莱会堂已经成为十分遥远的过去，他既不会去回想，也记不清楚了。他和这个女人同居得太久了。
“哦，我倒是知道的，”他回答，“要是我是你的话，我就不会去想它了。对于女人来说，这可不是个好职业。”“这总比挨饿强吧，”嘉莉说，“如果你不要我去演戏，为什么你自己不去找工作呢？”对此，没有现成的回答。他已经听惯了这个意见。
“好啦，别说了吧，”他回答。
这番谈话的结果是她暗暗下了决心，要去试试。这不关他的事。她可不愿意为了迎合他而被拖进贫困，或是更糟的处境。她能演戏。她能找到事做，然后逐步成名。到那时候，他还能说些什么呢？她想象着自己已经在百老汇的某些精彩演出中登台亮相，每天晚上走进自己的化妆室去化妆。然后，她会在１１点钟走出戏院，看见四周那些一排排等人的马车。她是否名角并不重要。只要她能干上这一行，拿着像样的薪水，穿着爱穿的衣服，有钱可花，想去哪里就去哪里，这一切该是多么令人快乐！她整天脑子里就想着这些情景。赫斯渥那令人沮丧的处境使得这些情景更加美丽迷人。
说也奇怪，这个想法很快也占据了赫斯渥的头脑。他那逐渐消失的钱提醒他，需要找点生计了。为什么嘉莉不能帮他一点，直到他找到事做呢？
一天，他回到家里，脑子里有些这样的想法。
“今天我遇见了约翰·贝·德雷克，”他说，“他打算今年秋天在这里开一家旅馆。他说到那时能给我一个职位。”“他是谁？”嘉莉问。
“他是在芝加哥开太平洋大饭店的。”
“喔，”嘉莉说。
“我那个职位大约一年能拿１４００块钱的薪水。”“那太好了，是不是？”她同情地说。
“只要我能熬过这个夏天，”他补充说，“我想一切就会好了。我又收到了几个朋友的来信。”嘉莉原原本本地相信了这个美丽的故事。她真诚地希望他能熬过这个夏天。他看上去太绝望了。
“你还剩下多少钱？”
“只有５０块了。”
“哦，天哪！”她叫起来了，“我们该怎么办呢？离下一次付房租只有二十天了。”赫斯渥两手捧着头，茫然地看着地板。
“也许你能在戏剧这一行里找些事做，”他和蔼地提议道。
“也许我能找到，”嘉莉说，很高兴有人赞成她的想法。
“只要是能找到的事情我都愿意去做，”看见她高兴起来，他说，“我能找到事情做的。”一天早晨，他走了以后，她把家里收拾干净，尽自己所有的衣服穿戴整齐，动身去百老汇大街。她对那条大街并不太熟悉。在她看来，那里奇妙地聚集着所有伟大和非凡的事业。戏院都在那里--这种代理处肯定就在那附近。
她决定先顺道拜访一下麦迪逊广场戏院，问问怎样才能找到剧团代理人。这种做法似乎很明智。因此，当她到了那家戏院时，就向票房的人打听这事。
“什么？”他说，探头看了看。“剧团代理人？我不知道。不过你可以从《剪报》上找到他们。他们都在那上面刊登广告。”“那是一种报纸吗？”嘉莉问。
“是的，”那人说，很奇怪她竟会不知道这么一件普通的事情。“你可以在报摊上买到的。”看见来询问的人这么漂亮，他客气地又加了一句。
嘉莉于是去买了《剪报》，站在报摊边，想扫一眼报纸，找到那些代理人。这事做起来并不那么容易。从这里到十三街要过好几条横马路，但她还是回去了，带着这份珍贵的报纸，直后悔浪费了时间。
赫斯渥已经回到家里，坐在他的老位子上。
“你去哪里了？”他问道。
“我试着去找几个剧团代理人。”
他感到有点胆怯，不敢问她是否成功了。她开始翻阅的那份报纸引起了他的注意。
“你那儿看的是什么？”他问。
“《剪报》。那人说我可以在这上面找到他们的地址。”“你大老远地跑到百老汇大街去，就是为了这个？我本来可以告诉你的。”“那你为什么不告诉我呢？“她问，头也没抬。
“你从来没有问过我嘛，”回答。
她在那些密密麻麻的栏目中，漫无目的地寻找着。这个人的冷漠搅得她心神不宁。他所做的一切，只是使得她面临的处境更加困难。她在心里开始自叹命苦。她的眼睑上已经挂上了眼泪，只是没有掉下来。赫斯渥也有所察觉。
“让我来看看。”
为了使自己恢复镇静，趁他查看报纸时，她去了前房间。
很快她就回来了。他正拿着一支铅笔，在一个信封上写着什么。
“这里有三个，”他说。
嘉莉接过信封，看到一个是伯缪台兹太太，另一个是马库斯·詹克斯，第三个是珀西·韦尔。她只停了一会儿，然后就朝门口走去。
“我最好立刻就去，”她说，头也没回。
赫斯渥眼看着她离去，心里隐约泛起阵阵羞愧，这是男子汉气概迅速衰退的表现。他坐了一会儿，随后觉得无法忍受了。他站起身来，戴上了帽子。
“我看我还得出去，”他自言自语着就出去了，没有目的地遛达着。不知怎么地，他只是觉得自己非出去不可。
嘉莉第一个拜访的是伯缪台兹太太，她的地址最近。这是一座老式住宅改成的办公室。伯缪台兹的办公室由原来的一间后房间和一间直通过道的卧室组成，标有“闲人莫入。”嘉莉进去时，发现几个人闲坐在那里，都是男人，不说话，也不干事。
当她正在等待有人注意她时，直通过道的卧室的门开了，从里面出来两个很像男人的女人，穿着十分紧身的衣服，配有白衣领和白袖口。她们的身后跟着一个胖夫人，大约４５岁，淡色头发，目光敏锐，看上去心地善良。至少，她正在微笑着。
“喂，别忘记那件事，”那两个像男人的女人中的一个说。
“不会的，”胖夫人说。“让我想想，”她又补充说，“２月份的第一个星期你们会在哪里？”“在匹兹堡，”那个女人说。
“我会往那里给你们写信的。”
“好吧，”对方说着，两个人就出去了。
立刻，这位胖夫人的脸色变得极其严肃和精明。她转过身来，用锐利的目光打量着嘉莉。
“喂，”她说，“年轻人，我能为你效劳吗？”“你是伯缪台兹太太吗？”“是的。”“这个，”嘉莉说，不知从何说起，“你能介绍人上台演戏吗？”“是的。”“你能帮我找个角色吗？”“你有经验吗？”“有一点点，”嘉莉说。
“你在哪个剧团干过？”
“哦，一个也没有，”嘉莉说。“那只是一次客串，在--”“哦，我明白了，”那个女人说道，打断了她。“不，眼下我不知道有什么机会。”嘉莉的脸色变了。
“你得有些在纽约演出的经验才行，”和蔼的伯缪台兹太太最后说，“不过，我们可以记下你的名字。”嘉莉站在那里看着这位夫人回到自己的办公室。
“请问你的地址是什么？”柜台后的一个年轻女人接过中断的谈话，问道。
“乔治·惠勒太太，”嘉莉说着，走到她在写字的地方。那个女人写下了她的详细地址，然后就对她说请便了。
在詹克斯的办公室里，她的遭遇也十分相似，唯一不同的是，他在最后说：“要是你能在某个地方戏院演出，或者有一张有你的名字的节目单的话，我也许能效点劳。”在第三个地方，那个人问道：“你想干哪一类的工作？”“你问这个是什么意思？”嘉莉说。
“喔，你是想演喜剧，还是杂耍剧，还是当群舞演员。”“哦，我想在一出戏里担任一个角色，”嘉莉说。
“那样的话，”那人说，“你要花些钱才能办得到。”“多少钱？”嘉莉说，看起来也许很可笑，她以前没想过这一点。
“哦，那就由你说了，”他精明地回答。
嘉莉好奇地看着他。她几乎不知道该怎么接着往下问了。
“如果我付了钱，你能给我一个角色吗？”“要是不能给，就把钱退还给你。““哦，”她说。
那个代理人看出他是在和一个没有经验的人打交道，因此接着说。
“不管怎样，你都要先付５０块钱，少于这个数，没有哪个代理人会愿意为你费神的。"嘉莉看出了端倪。
“谢谢你，”她说，“我要考虑一下。”
她动身要走时又想起了一些什么。
“要过多久我才能得到一个角色？”她问。
“哦，那就难说了，”那人说，“也许一个星期，也许一个月。
我们一有合适的事就会给你的。”
“我明白了，”嘉莉说，然后，露出一丝悦人的笑容，走了出来。
那个代理人琢磨了一会儿，然后自言自语道：“这些女人都这么渴望着能当演员，真是可笑。”这个５０块钱的要求让嘉莉想了很多。“也许他们会拿了我的钱，却什么也不给我，”她想，她有一些珠宝--一只钻石戒指和别针，还有几件别的首饰。要是她去当铺当了这些东西，她是可以筹出５０块钱的。
赫斯渥在她之前回的家。他没有想到她要花这么长的时间去寻找。
“喂，”他说，不敢询问有什么消息。
“今天我什么事也没找到，”嘉莉说着，脱下手套。“他们都要你先付钱，才给你事做。”“多少钱？”赫斯渥问。
“５０块。”
“他们没作任何要求，是不是？”
“哦，他们和别的人一样。即便你真地付了钱，也说不准他们到底会不会给你事做。”“唉，我可不愿意为此拿出５０块钱，”赫斯渥说，好像他正手里拿着钱在作决定似的。
“我不知道，”嘉莉说，“我想去找几个经理试试。”赫斯渥听到这话，已经不再觉得这种想法有什么可怕了。
他轻轻地前后摇摇啃着他的手指。到了如此山穷水尽的地步，这似乎也是非常自然的。以后，他会好起来的。
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Chapter 38 IN ELF LAND DISPORTING: THE GRIM WORLD WITHOUT
When Carrie renewed her search, as she did the next day, going to the Casino, she found that in the opera chorus, as in other fields, employment is difficult to secure. Girls who can stand in a line and look pretty are as numerous as labourers who can swing a pick. She found there was no discrimination between one and the other of applicants, save as regards a conventional standard of prettiness and form. Their own opinion or knowledge of their ability went for nothing.
"Where shall I find Mr. Gray?" she asked of a sulky doorman at the stage entrance of the Casino.
"You can't see him now; he's busy."
"Do you know when I can see him?"
"Got an appointment with him?"
"No."
"Well, you'll have to call at his office."
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Carrie. "Where is his office?"
He gave her the number.
She knew there was no need of calling there now. He would not be in. Nothing remained but to employ the intermediate hours in search.
The dismal story of ventures in other places is quickly told. Mr. Daly saw no one save by appointment. Carrie waited an hour in a dingy office, quite in spite of obstacles, to learn this fact of the placid, indifferent Mr. Dorney.
"You will have to write and ask him to see you."
So she went away.
At the Empire Theatre she found a hive of peculiarly listless and indifferent individuals. Everything ornately upholstered, everything carefully finished, everything remarkably reserved.
At the Lyceum she entered one of those secluded, under-stairway closets, berugged and bepanneled, which causes one to feel the greatness of all positions of authority. Here was reserve itself done into a box-office clerk, a doorman, and an assistant, glorying in their fine positions.
"Ah, be very humble now -- very humble indeed. Tell us what it is you require. Tell it quickly, nervously, and without a vestige of self-respect. If no trouble to us in any way, we may see what we can do."
This was the atmosphere of the Lyceum -- the attitude, for that matter, of every managerial office in the city. These little proprietors of businesses are lords indeed on their own ground.
Carrie came away wearily, somewhat more abashed for her pains.
Hurstwood heard the details of the weary and unavailing search that evening.
"I didn't get to see any one," said Carrie. "I just walked, and walked, and waited around."
Hurstwood only looked at her.
"I suppose you have to have some friends before you can get in," she added, disconsolately.
Hurstwood saw the difficulty of this thing, and yet it did not seem so terrible. Carrie was tired and dispirited, but now she could rest. Viewing the world from his rocking-chair, its bitterness did not seem to approach so rapidly. To-morrow was another day.
To-morrow came, and the next, and the next.
Carrie saw the manager at the Casino once.
"Come around," he said, "the first of next week. I may make some changes then."
He was a large and corpulent individual, surfeited with good clothes and good eating, who judged women as another would horseflesh. Carrie was pretty and graceful. She might be put in even if she did not have any experience. One of the proprietors had suggested that the chorus was a little weak on looks.
The first of next week was some days off yet. The first of the month was drawing near. Carrie began to worry as she had never worried before.
"Do you really look for anything when you go out?" she asked Hurstwood one morning as a climax to some painful thoughts of her own.
"Of course I do," he said pettishly, troubling only a little over the disgrace of the insinuation.
"I'd take anything," she said, "for the present. It will soon be the first of the month again."
She looked the picture of despair.
Hurstwood quit reading his paper and changed his clothes.
"He would look for something," he thought. "He would go and see if some brewery couldn't get him in somewhere. Yes, he would take a position as bartender, if he could get it."
It was the same sort of pilgrimage he had made before. One or two slight rebuffs, and the bravado disappeared.
"No use," he thought. "I might as well go on back home."
Now that his money was so low, he began to observe his clothes and feel that even his best ones were beginning to look commonplace. This was a bitter thought.
Carrie came in after he did.
"I went to see some of the variety managers," she said, aimlessly. "You have to have an act. They don't want anybody that hasn't."
"I saw some of the brewery people to-day," said Hurstwood. "One man told me he'd try to make a place for me in two or three weeks."
In the face of so much distress on Carrie's part, he had to make some showing, and it was thus he did so. It was lassitude's apology to energy.
Monday Carrie went again to the Casino.
"Did I tell you to come around to-day?" said the manager, looking her over as she stood before him.
"You said the first of the week," said Carrie, greatly abashed.
"Ever had any experience?" he asked again, almost severely.
Carrie owned to ignorance.
He looked her over again as he stirred among some papers. He was secretly pleased with this pretty, disturbed-looking young woman. "Come around to the theatre to-morrow morning."
Carrie's heart bounded to her throat.
"I will," she said with difficulty. She could see he wanted her, and turned to go.
"Would he really put her to work? Oh, blessed fortune, could it be?"
Already the hard rumble of the city through the open windows became pleasant.
A sharp voice answered her mental interrogation, driving away all immediate fears on that score.
"Be sure you're there promptly," the manager said roughly. "You'll be dropped if you're not."
Carrie hastened away. She did not quarrel now with Hurstwood's idleness. She had a place -- she had a place! This sang in her ears.
In her delight she was almost anxious to tell Hurstwood. But, as she walked homeward, and her survey of the facts of the case became larger, she began to think of the anomaly of her finding work in several weeks and his lounging in idleness for a number of months.
"Why don't he get something?" she openly said to herself. "If I can he surely ought to. It wasn't very hard for me."
She forgot her youth and her beauty. The handicap of age she did not, in her enthusiasm, perceive.
Thus, ever, the voice of success.
Still, she could not keep her secret. She tried to be calm and indifferent, but it was a palpable sham.
"Well?" he said, seeing her relieved face.
"I have a place."
"You have?" he said, breathing a better breath.
"Yes."
"What sort of a place is it?" he asked, feeling in his veins as if now he might get something good also.
"In the chorus," she answered.
"Is it the Casino show you told me about?"
"Yes," she answered. "I begin rehearsing tomorrow."
There was more explanation volunteered by Carrie, because she was happy. At last Hurstwood said:
"Do you know how much you'll get?"
"No, I didn't want to ask," said Carrie. "I guess they pay twelve or fourteen dollars a week."
"About that, I guess," said Hurstwood.
There was a good dinner in the flat that evening, owing to the mere lifting of the terrible strain. Hurstwood went out for a shave, and returned with a fair-sized sirloin steak.
"Now, to-morrow," he thought, "I'll look around myself," and with renewed hope he lifted his eyes from the ground.
On the morrow Carrie reported promptly and was given a place in the line. She saw a large, empty, shadowy play-house, still redolent of the perfumes and blazonry of the night, and notable for its rich, oriental appearance. The wonder of it awed and delighted her. Blessed be its wondrous reality. How hard she would try to be worthy of it. It was above the common mass, above idleness, above want, above insignificance. People came to it in finery and carriages to see. It was ever a center of light and mirth. And here she was of it. Oh, if she could only remain, how happy would be her days!
"What is your name?" said the manager, who was conducting the drill.
"Madenda," she replied, instantly mindful of the name Drouet had selected in Chicago. "Carrie Madenda."
"Well, now, Miss Madenda," he said, very affably, as Carrie thought, "you go over there."
Then he called to a young woman who was already of the company:
"Miss Clark, you pair with Miss Madenda."
This young lady stepped forward, so that Carrie saw where to go, and the rehearsal began.
Carrie soon found that while this drilling had some slight resemblance to the rehearsals as conducted at Avery Hall, the attitude of the manager was much more pronounced. She had marvelled at the insistence and superior airs of Mr. Millice, but the individual conducting here had the same insistence, coupled with almost brutal roughness. As the drilling proceeded, he seemed to wax exceedingly wroth over trifles, and to increase his lung power in proportion. It was very evident that he had a great contempt for any assumption of dignity or innocence on the part of these young women.
"Clark," he would call -- meaning, of course, Miss Clark -- "why don't you catch step there?"
"By fours, right! Right, I said, right! For heaven's sake, get on to yourself! Right!" and in saying this he would lift the last sounds into a vehement roar.
"Maitland! Maitland!" he called once.
A nervous, comely-dressed little girl stepped out. Carrie trembled for her out of the fulness of her own sympathies and fear.
"Yes, sir," said Miss Maitland.
"Is there anything the matter with your ears?"
"No, sir."
"Do you know what 'column left' means?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, what are you stumbling around the right for? Want to break up the line?"
"I was just-"
"Never mind what you were just. Keep your ears open."
Carrie pitied, and trembled for her turn.
Yet another suffered the pain of personal rebuke.
"Hold on a minute," cried the manager, throwing up his hands, as if in despair. His demeanour was fierce.
"Elvers," he shouted, "what have you got in your mouth?"
"Nothing," said Miss Elvers, while some smiled and stood nervously by.
"Well, are you talking?"
"No, sir."
"Well, keep your mouth still then. Now, all together again." At last Carrie's turn came. It was because of her extreme anxiety to do all that was required that brought on trouble.
She heard some one called.
"Mason," said the voice. "Miss Mason."
She looked around to see who it could be. A girl behind shoved her a little, but she did not understand.
"You, you!" said the manager. "Can't you hear?"
"Oh," said Carrie, collapsing, and blushing fiercely.
"Isn't your name Mason?" asked the manager.
"No, sir," said Carrie, "it's Madenda."
"Well, what's the matter with your feet? Can't you dance?"
"Yes, sir," said Carrie, who had long since learned this art.
"Why don't you do it then?" Don't go shuffling along as if you were dead. I've got to have people with life in them."
Carrie's cheek burned with a crimson heat. Her lips trembled a little.
"Yes, sir," she said.
It was this constant urging, coupled with irascibility and energy, for three long hours. Carrie came away worn enough in body, but too excited in mind to notice it. She meant to go home and practise her evolutions as prescribed. She would not err in any way, if she could help it.
When she reached the flat Hurstwood was not there. For a wonder he was out looking for work, as she supposed. She took only a mouthful to eat and then practised on, sustained by visions of freedom from financial distress -- "The sound of glory ringing in her ears."
When Hurstwood returned he was not so elated as when he went away, and now she was obliged to drop practice and get dinner. Here was an early irritation. She would have her work and this. Was she going to act and keep house?
"I'll not do it," she said, "after I get started. He can take his meals out."
Each day thereafter brought its cares. She found it was not such a wonderful thing to be in the chorus, and she also learned that her salary would be twelve dollars a week. After a few days she had her first sight of those high and mighties -- the leading ladies and gentlemen. She saw that they were privileged and deferred to. She was nothing -- absolutely nothing at all.
At home was Hurstwood, daily giving her cause for thought. He seemed to get nothing to do, and yet he made bold to inquire how she was getting along. The regularity with which he did this smacked of some one who was waiting to live upon her labour. Now that she had a visible means of support, this irritated her. He seemed to be depending upon her little twelve dollars.
"How are you getting along?" he would blandly inquire.
"Oh, all right," she would reply.
"Find it easy?"
"It will be all right when I get used to it."
His paper would then engross his thoughts.
"I got some lard," he would add, as an afterthought. "I thought maybe you might want to make some biscuit."
The calm suggestion of the man astonished her a little, especially in the light of recent developments. Her dawning independence gave her more courage to observe, and she felt as if she wanted to say things. Still she could not talk to him as she had to Drouet. There was something in the man's manner of which she had always stood in awe. He seemed to have some invisible strength in reserve.
One day, after her first week's rehearsal, what she expected came openly to the surface.
"We'll have to be rather saving," he said, laying down some meat he had purchased. "You won't get any money for a week or so yet.
"No," said Carrie, who was stirring a pan at the stove.
"I've only got the rent and thirteen dollars more," he added.
"That's it," she said to herself. "I'm to use my money now."
Instantly she remembered that she had hoped to buy a few things for herself. She needed clothes. Her hat was not nice.
"What will twelve dollars do towards keeping up this flat?" she thought. "I can't do it. Why doesn't he get something to do?"
The important night of the first real performance came. She did not suggest to Hurstwood that he come and see. He did not think of going. It would only be money wasted. She had such a small part.
The advertisements were already in the papers; the posters upon the bill-boards. The leading lady and many members were cited. Carrie was nothing.
As in Chicago, she was seized with stage fright as the very first entrance of the ballet approached, but later she recovered. The apparent and painful insignificance of the part took fear away from her. She felt that she was so obscure it did not matter. Fortunately, she did not have to wear tights. A group of twelve were assigned pretty golden-hued skirts which came only to a line about an inch above the knee. Carrie happened to be one of the twelve.
In standing about the stage, marching, and occasionally lifting up her voice in the general chorus, she had a chance to observe the audience and to see the inauguration of a great hit. There was plenty of applause, but she could not help noting how poorly some of the women of alleged ability did.
"I could do better than that," Carrie ventured to herself, in several instances. To do her justice, she was right.
After it was over she dressed quickly, and as the manager had scolded some others and passed her, she imagined she must have proved satisfactory. She wanted to get out quickly, because she knew but few, and the stars were gossiping. Outside were carriages and some correct youths in attractive clothing, waiting. Carrie saw that she was scanned closely. The flutter of an eyelash would have brought her a companion. That she did not give.
One experienced youth volunteered, anyhow.
"Not going home alone, are you?" he said.
Carrie merely hastened her steps and took the Sixth Avenue car. Her head was so full of the wonder of it that she had time for nothing else.
"Did you hear any more from the brewery?" she asked at the end of the week, hoping by the question to stir him on to action.
"No," he answered, "they're not quite ready yet. I think something will come of that, though."
She said nothing more then, objecting to giving up her own money, and yet feeling that such would have to be the case. Hurstwood felt the crisis, and artfully decided to appeal to Carrie. He had long since realised how good-natured she was, how much she would stand. There was some little shame in him at the thought of doing so, but he justified himself with the thought that he really would get something. Rent day gave him his opportunity.
"Well," he said, as he counted it out, "that's about the last of my money. I'll have to get something pretty soon."
Carrie looked at him askance, half-suspicious of an appeal.
"If I could only hold out a little longer I think I could get something. Drake is sure to open a hotel here in September."
"Is he?" said Carrie, thinking of the short month that still remained until that time.
"Would you mind helping me out until then?" he said appealingly. "I think I'll be all right after that time."
"No," said Carrie, feeling sadly handicapped by fate.
"We can get along if we economise. I'll pay you back all right."
"Oh, I'll help you," said Carrie, feeling quite hard-hearted at thus forcing him to humbly appeal, and yet her desire for the benefit of her earnings wrung a faint protest from her.
"Why don't you take anything, George, temporarily?" she said. "What difference does it make? Maybe, after a while, you'll get something better."
"I will take anything," he said, relieved, and wincing under reproof. "I'd just as leave dig on the streets. Nobody knows me here."
"Oh, you needn't do that," said Carrie, hurt by the pity of it. "But there must be other things."
"I'll get something!" he said, assuming determination.
Then he went back to his paper.
当第二天嘉莉重新寻找工作，去卡西诺戏院时，她发现在歌剧群舞队里，就像在其它行当里一样，很难找到事做。能站在群舞队里的漂亮姑娘多得如同能挥镐干活的工人。她还发现，除了用世俗的标准来衡量美貌和身材之外，对于不同的求职者并不存在任何其它的区别。求职者自己的意愿或对自己的才能的了解，则一文不值。 “请问哪里能找到格雷先生？”她在卡西诺戏院的后台入口处，问一个阴沉着脸的看门人。
“现在你不能见他。他很忙。”
“那你知道我什么时候能见他呢？”
“和他约好了吗？”
“没有。”
“那样的话，你得去他的办公室找他。”“哦，天哪！”嘉莉叫道，“他的办公室在哪里？”他给了她门牌号码。
她知道这时去那里是没有用的，他不会在那里。没有办法，只有利用期间的时间再去找找。
在其它几个地方的冒险很快就结束了，故事都很凄惨。戴利先生只见事先约好的客人。嘉莉在一间阴暗的办公室里，不顾阻拦，等了一个钟头之后，才从沉着、冷漠的多尼先生嘴里知道了这个规矩。
“你得写信请求他接见你。”
这样她就离开了。
在帝国剧院，她看到一群特别无精打采、无动于衷的人。
一切都布置得十分华丽，一切都安排得非常细致，一切都显得那么矜持而高不可攀。
在蓝心戏院，她走进一个平静的楼梯下面的小房间里，地上铺着地毯，墙上装着护墙板。这种地方使人感受到所有权威人士的地位的崇高。在这里，矜持的神气活生生地体现在一个售票员、一个门房和一个助手的身上，他们都因自己的崇高地位而得意洋洋。
“啊，现在要表现得非常谦卑--非常非常谦卑。请告诉我们你的要求。说得要快，要显得紧张，不要露出丝毫的自尊。
要是我们一点不感到为难的话，我们可以看看能为你效什么劳。”这就是蓝心戏院的气氛。实际上，这也是城里每一家经理室的共同气氛。这些小业主们，在他们自己的行当中，就是真正的至高无上的统治者。
嘉莉疲惫地走开了，悲痛之余更加感到难堪。
那天晚上，赫斯渥听到了这次劳而无获的寻找的详细情况。
“我连一个人都没见着，”嘉莉说，“我只是走啊，走啊，到处等人。”赫斯渥只是看着她。
“我看得先有些朋友才能进这一行，”她闷闷不乐地加了一句。
赫斯渥看出了这件事的困难，但并不认为这有多么可怕。
嘉莉又疲倦又丧气，不过现在她可以休息了。坐在他的摇椅里，观看这个世界，世间的苦难来得并不很快。明天又是一天嘛。
明天来了，接下去又是一天，又是一天。
嘉莉见到了一次卡西诺戏院的经理。
“你来吧，”他说，“下个星期一来，那时我可能要换些人。”他是个高大而肥胖的人，穿得好，吃得好，鉴别女人就像别人鉴别马匹一样。嘉莉长得俏丽妩媚。即便她一点经验都没有，也可以把她安排进来。有一个东家曾经提到过，群舞队员的相貌差了一些。
离下星期一还有好几天的时间。离下月１号倒是很近了。
嘉莉开始发起愁来，她以前还从来没有这么发愁过。
“你出去的时候真的是在找事做吗？”一天早晨，她问赫斯渥。她自己愁得急了，就想到这上面来了。
“我当然是在找啦，”他有些生气地说，对这个羞辱他的暗示只是稍微有点感到不安。
“眼下，”她说，“我可是什么事都愿意做。马上又到下个月１号了。”她看上去绝望极了。
赫斯渥停止了看报，换上衣服。
他想，他要出去找事做。他要去看看哪家酿酒厂是否会安排他进某家酒店。是啊，倘若能找到的话，做侍者他也愿意。
现在他的钱就快用完了，于是开始注意起自己的衣服来，觉得连自己最好的衣服都开始显得旧了。这一点真让他难受。
嘉莉在他之后回到家里。
“我去见了几家杂耍剧场的经理，”她无可奈何地说，“你得有一个表演节目才行。他们不要没有表演节目的人。”“我今天见了个开酿酒厂的人，”赫斯渥说，“有一个人告诉我说他会设法在两三个星期之内给我找个职位。”看见嘉莉这么苦恼：他得有所表示，因此他就这样说了。
这是无精打采的人面对精力充沛的人找的托辞。
星期一，嘉莉又去了卡西诺戏院。
“是我叫你今天来的吗？”经理说，上下打量了一番站在他面前的她。
“你是说星期一来的，”嘉莉很窘迫地说。
“有过什么经验吗？”他又问，口气几近严厉了。
嘉莉承认毫无经验。
他一边翻动一些报纸，一边又把她打量了一番。对这个漂亮的、看上去心绪不宁的年轻女人，他暗自感到满意。“明天早晨来戏院吧。”嘉莉的心跳上了喉头。
“我会来的，”她吃力地说。她看得出他想要她，转身准备走了。
他真的会让她工作吗？啊，可爱的命运之神，真的会这样吗？
从敞开的窗口传来的城市的刺耳的嘈杂声，已经变得悦耳动听了。
一个严厉的声音，回答了她内心的疑向，消除了她对此的一切担忧。
“你一定要准时来这里，”经理粗鲁地说。“否则就会被除名的。”嘉莉匆忙走开。这时她也不去埋怨赫斯渥的游手好闲了。
她有了一份工作--她有了一份工作！她的耳朵里响起这美妙的歌声。
她一高兴，差一点就急着要去告诉赫斯渥了。可是，在往家走时，她从更多的方面考虑了这件事情，开始想到她几个星期就找到了工作，而他却闲荡了几个月，这是很反常的。
“为什么他就找不到事情做呢？”她对自己直言道，“如果我找得到，他也一定应该找得到。我找工作并不是很难呀。”她忘记了自己的年轻美貌。她在兴奋的时候，觉察不到年龄的障碍。
成功的人总会这样说的。
可是，她还是掩藏不住自己的秘密。她想表现得镇静自若，无动于衷，但是一眼就能看穿她这是装出来的。
“怎么样？”看见她轻松的脸色，他说。
“我找到了一份工作。”
“找到了吗？”他说，松了一口气。
“是的。”
“是份什么样的工作？”他兴致勃勃地问，觉得似乎现在他也能找到什么好的事做了。
“当群舞队演员，”她回答。
“是不是你告诉过我的要在卡西诺戏院上演的那出戏？”“是的，”她回答，“我明天开始排练。”因为很高兴，嘉莉还主动作了一些解释。最后，赫斯渥说：“你知道你能拿到多少薪水吗？”“不知道，我也没想要问，”嘉莉说。“我猜他们每星期会付１２或１４块钱吧。”“我看也就是这个数左右，”赫斯渥说。
那天晚上，他们在家里好好吃了一顿饭，只是因为不再感觉那么紧张可怕了。赫斯渥出去修了面，回来时带了一大块牛腰肉。
“那么，明天，”他想着，“我自己也去找找看。”怀着新的希望，他抬起头来，不看地板了。
第二天，嘉莉准时去报到，被安排在群舞队里。她看到的是一个空荡荡、阴森森的大戏院，还带着昨夜演出的余香和排场，它以富丽堂皇和具有东方情调而著称。面对如此奇妙的地方，她又是敬畏又是欣喜。老天保佑这里的一切都是真的。
她会竭尽全力使自己当之无愧的。这里没有平凡，没有懒散，没有贫困，也没有低微。到这里来看戏的，都是衣着华丽、马车接送的人。这里永远是愉快和欢乐的中心。而现在她也属于这里。啊，但愿她能留下来，那她的日子将会多么幸福！
“你叫什么名字？”经理说，这时他正在指挥排练。
“麦登达，”她立刻想起了在芝加哥时杜洛埃替她选的姓氏，就回答说。“嘉莉·麦登达。”“好吧，现在，麦登达小姐，”他说，嘉莉觉得他的口气非常和蔼可亲，“你去那边。”然后，他对一个年轻的老队员喊道：“克拉克小姐，你和麦登达小姐一对。”这个年轻的姑娘向前迈了一步，这样嘉莉知道该站到哪里，排演就开始了。
嘉莉很快就发现，这里的排练虽然和阿佛莱会堂的排练稍微有一点相似，但这位经理的态度却要严厉得多。她曾经对米利斯先生的固执己见和态度傲慢感到很惊讶，而在这里指挥的这个人不仅同样地固执己见，而且态度粗暴得近乎野蛮。
在排练进行之中，他似乎对一些小事都表现得愤怒至极，嗓门也相应地变得越来越大。非常明显，他十分瞧不起这些年轻女人任何乔装的尊严和天真。
“克拉克，”他会叫道，当然是指克拉克小姐。“你现在怎么不跟上去？”“四人一排，向右转！向右转，我说是向右转！老天爷，清醒些！向右转！”在说这些话时，他会提高最后几个字音，变成咆哮。
“梅特兰！梅特兰！”一次，他叫道。
一个紧张不安、衣着漂亮的小姑娘站了出来。嘉莉替她担忧，因为她自己心里充满了同情和恐惧。
“是的，先生，”梅特兰小姐说。
“你耳朵有毛病吗？”
“没有，先生。”
“你知道‘全队向左转’是什么意思吗？”“知道，先生。”“那么，你跌跌绊绊地向右干什么？想打乱队形吗？”“我只是--”“不管你只是什么的。竖起耳朵听着。”嘉莉可怜她，又怕轮到自己。
可是，又有一个尝到了挨骂的滋味。
“暂停一下，”经理大叫一声，像是绝望般地举起双手。他的动作很凶猛。
“艾尔弗斯，”他大声嚷道，“你嘴里含着什么？”“没什么，”艾尔弗斯小姐说，这时有些人笑了，有些人紧张地站在一边。
“那么，你是在说话吗？”
“没有，先生。”
“那么，嘴就别动。现在，大家一起再来。"终于也轮到了嘉莉。她太急于照要求的一切去做了，因此惹出麻烦。
她听到在叫什么人。
“梅森，”那声音说，“梅森小姐。”
她四下里望望，想看看会是谁。她身后的一个姑娘轻轻地推了她一下，但她不明白是什么意思。
“你，你！”经理说，“你难道听不见吗？”“哎，”嘉莉说，腿吓得发软，脸涨得通红。
“你不是叫梅森吗？”经理问。
“不是，先生，”嘉莉说，“是麦登达。”
“好吧，你的脚怎么啦？你不会跳舞吗？”“会的，先生，”嘉莉说，她早已学会了跳舞这门艺术。
“那你为什么不跳呢？别像个死人似地拖着脚走。我要的是充满活力的人。”嘉莉的脸颊烧得绯红。她的嘴唇有些颤抖。
“是的，先生，”她说。
他就这样不断地督促着，加上脾气暴躁和精力充沛，过了长长的３个钟头。嘉莉走时已经很累了，只是心里太兴奋了，没有觉察到这一点。她想回家去，按照要求练习她的规定动作。只要有可能的话，她要避免做错任何动作。
她到家时，赫斯渥不在家里。她猜想他是出去找工作了，这可真是难得。她只吃了一口东西，然后又接着练习，支撑她的是能够摆脱经济困难的梦想--自豪的声音在她的耳朵里响起。
赫斯渥回来的时候不像出门时那样兴高采烈，而且这时她不得不中断练习去做晚饭。于是就有了最初的恼怒。她既要工作，又要做饭。难道她要一边演出一边持家吗？
“等我开始工作后，”她想，“我就不干这些事了。他可以在外面吃饭。”此后，烦恼与日俱增。她发现当群舞演员并不是什么很好的事，而且她还知道了她的薪水是每周１２块钱。几天之后，她第一次见到了那些趾高气扬的人物--饰演主角的男女演员。她发现他们享有特权，受到尊敬。而她却微不足道--绝对的微不足道。
家里有着赫斯渥，每天都让她心烦。他似乎没事可干，但却敢问她工作如何。他每天要都照例问她这个，有点像是要靠她的劳动而过活的味道。这使她很生气，因为她自己有了具体的生活来源，他看来好像是要依赖于她那可怜的１２块钱了。
“你干得怎么样？”他会和言悦色地问。
“哦，很好，”她会答道。
“觉得容易吗？”
“习惯了就会好的。”
然后，他就会埋头看报了。
“我买了一些猪油，”他会补充说，像是又想起来了。“我想也许你要做些饼干。”个人这样平静地提着建议，倒真使她有点吃惊，特别是考虑到最近的情况变化。她渐渐地开始独立，这使她更加有勇气冷眼旁观，她觉得自己很想说些难听的话。可是，她还是不能像对杜洛埃那样对他说话。这个人的举止中有着某种东西总是令她感到敬畏。他像是有着某种潜在的力量。
在她第一个星期的排演结束了之后，一天，她所预料的情况发生了。
“我们得过得很节省才行，”他说着，放下他买的一些肉。
“这一个星期左右你还拿不到钱的。”
“拿不到的，”嘉莉说，她正在炉子上翻动着锅里的菜。
“我除了房租钱，只有１３块钱了，”他加了一句。
“完了，”她对自己说道。“现在要用我的钱了。”她立刻想起她曾希望为自己买几件东西。她需要衣服。她的帽子也不漂亮。
“要维持这个家，１２块钱能顶什么用呢？”她想，“我无法维持。他为什么不找些事情做呢？”那个重要的第一次真正演出的夜晚来到了。她没有提议请赫斯渥来看。他也没想着要去看。那样只会浪费钱。她的角色太小了。
报纸上已经登出了广告，布告栏里也贴出了海报。上面提到了领衔主演的女演员和其他许多演员的名字。嘉莉不在起中。
就像在芝加哥一样，到了群舞队首次上场的那一刻，她怯场了，但后来她就恢复了平静。她演的角色显然无足轻重，这很令她伤心，但也消除了她的恐惧。她觉得自己太不起眼，也就无所谓了。有幸的是，她不用穿紧身衣服。有一组１２人被指定要穿漂亮的金色短裙，裙长只及膝上约一英寸。嘉莉碰巧在这一组。
站在舞台上，随队而行，偶尔地提高嗓音加入大合唱，她有机会去注意观众，去目睹一出极受欢迎的戏是怎样开始的。
掌声很多，但是，她也注意到了一些所谓有才能的女演员表演得有多糟糕。
“我可以演得比这好，”有几次，嘉莉大胆地对自己说。说句公道话，她是对的。
戏演完之后，她赶快穿好衣服，因为经理责骂了几个人而放过了她，她想自己演得一定还令人满意。她想赶快出去，因为她的熟人很少，那些名演员都在闲聊。外面等候着马车和一些在这种场合少不了的衣着迷人的青年人。嘉莉发现人们在仔细地打量着她。她只需睫毛一动就能招来一个伴。但她没有这样做。
然而，一个精于此道的青年还是主动上来了。
“你是一个人回家，对吗？”他说。
嘉莉只是加快了脚步，上了第六大道的有轨电车。她满脑子都是对这事感到的惊奇，没有时间去想起它的事情。
“你有那家酿酒厂的消息了吗？”她在周末的时候问道，希望这样问能激其他的行动。
“没有，”他回答，“他们还没有完全准备好。不过，我想这事会有一些结果的。”这之后她没再说什么。她不乐意拿出自己的钱，可是又觉得非拿不可。赫斯渥已经感到了危机，精明地决定求助于嘉莉。他早就知道她有多么善良，有多大的忍耐力。想到要这么做，他有一点羞愧，但是想到他真能找到事做，他又觉得自己没错。付房租的那一天为他提供了机会。
“唉，”他数出钱来说道，“这差不多是我最后的一点钱了。
我得赶快找到事做。”
嘉莉斜眼看着他，有几分猜到他要有所要求了。
“只要能再维持一小段时间，我想我会找到事情的。德雷克９月份肯定会在这里开一家旅馆。”“是吗？”嘉莉说，心想离那时还有短短的一个月。
“在此之前，你愿意帮我的忙吗？”他恳求道，“然后我想一切都会好了。”“好的，”嘉莉说，命运如此捉弄她，她真是伤心。
“只要我们节省一些，是能过得去的。我会如数归还你的。”“哦，我会帮你的，”嘉莉说，觉得自己的心肠太硬，这么逼着他低声下气地哀求，可是她想从自己的收入中得到实惠的欲望又使她隐隐地感到不满。
“乔治，你为什么不暂时随便找个事做做呢？”她说，“这又有什么关系呢？也许过一段时间，你会找到更好的事情的。”“我什么事都愿意做，”他说，松了一口气，缩着头等着挨骂。“上街挖泥我也愿意。反正这里又没人认识我。”“哦，你用不着做那种事，”嘉莉说，为这话说得那么可怜感到伤心了。“但是肯定会有其它的事情的。”“我会找到事做的！”他说，像是下定了决心。
然后，他又去看报了。
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Chapter 39 OF LIGHTS AND OF SHADOWS: THE PARTING OF WORLDS
What Hurstwood got as the result of the determination was more self-assurance that each particular day was not the day. At the same time, Carrie passed through thirty days of mental distress.
Her need of clothes -- to say nothing of her desire for ornaments -- grew rapidly as the fact developed that for all her work she was not to have them. The sympathy she felt for Hurstwood, at the time he asked her to tide him over, vanished with these newer urgings of decency. He was not always renewing his request, but this love of good appearance was. It insisted, and Carrie wished to satisfy it, wished more and more that Hurstwood was not in the way.
Hurstwood reasoned, when he neared the last ten dollars, that he had better keep a little pocket change and not become wholly dependent for car-fare, shaves, and the like; so when this sum was still in his hand he announced himself as penniless.
"I'm clear out," he said to Carrie one afternoon. "I paid for some coal this morning, and that took all but ten or fifteen cents."
"I've got some money there in my purse."
Hurstwood went to get it, starting for a can of tomatoes. Carrie scarcely noticed that this was the beginning of the new order. He took out fifteen cents and bought the can with it. Thereafter it was dribs and drabs of this sort, until one morning Carrie suddenly remembered that she would not be back until close to dinner time.
"We're all out of flour," she said; "you'd better get some this afternoon. We haven't any meat, either. How would it do if we had liver and bacon?"
"Suits me," said Hurstwood.
"Better get a half or three-quarters of a pound of that."
"Half'll be enough," volunteered Hurstwood.
She opened her purse and laid down a half dollar. He pretended not to notice it.
Hurstwood bought the flour -- which all grocers sold in 3 1/2 pound packages -- for thirteen cents and paid fifteen cents for a half-pound of liver and bacon. He left the packages, together with the balance of thirty-two cents, upon the kitchen table, where Carrie found it. It did not escape her that the change was accurate. There was something sad in realising that, after all, all that he wanted of her was something to eat. She felt as if hard thoughts were unjust. Maybe he would get something yet. He had no vices.
That very evening, however, on going into the theatre, one of the chorus girls passed her all newly arrayed in a pretty mottled tweed suit, which took Carrie's eye. The young woman wore a fine bunch of violets and seemed in high spirits. She smiled at Carrie good-naturedly as she passed, showing pretty, even teeth, and Carrie smiled back.
"She can afford to dress well," thought Carrie, "and so could I, if I could only keep my money. I haven't a decent tie of any kind to wear."
She put out her foot and looked at her shoe reflectively.
"I'll get a pair of shoes Saturday, anyhow; I don't care what happens."
One of the sweetest and most sympathetic little chorus girls in the company made friends with her because in Carrie she found nothing to frighten her away. She was a gay little Manon, unwitting of society's fierce conception of morality, but, nevertheless, good to her neighbour and charitable. Little license was allowed the chorus in the matter of conversation, but, nevertheless, some was indulged in.
"It's warm to-night, isn't it?" said this girl, arrayed in pink fleshings and an imitation golden helmet. She also carried a shining shield.
"Yes; it is," said Carrie, pleased that some one should talk to her.
"I'm almost roasting," said the girl.
Carrie looked into her pretty face, with its large blue eyes, and saw little beads of moisture.
"There's more marching in this opera than ever I did before," added the girl.
"Have you been in others?" asked Carrie, surprised at her experience.
"Lots of them," said the girl; "haven't you?"
"This is my first experience."
"Oh, is it? I thought I saw you the time they ran 'The Queen's Mate' here."
"No," said Carrie, shaking her head; "not me."
This conversation was interrupted by the blare of the orchestra and the sputtering of the calcium lights in the wings as the line was called to form for a new entrance. No further opportunity for conversation occurred, but the next evening, when they were getting ready for the stage, this girl appeared anew at her side.
"They say this show is going on the road next month."
"Is it?" said Carrie.
"Yes; do you think you'll go?"
"I don't know; I guess so, if they'll take me."
"Oh, they'll take you. I wouldn't go. They won't give you any more, and it will cost you everything you make to live. I never leave New York. There are too many shows going on here."
"Can you always get in another show?"
"I always have. There's one going on up at the Broadway this month. I'm going to try and get in that if this one really goes."
Carrie heard this with aroused intelligence. Evidently it wasn't so very difficult to get on. Maybe she also could get a place if this show went away.
"Do they all pay about the same?" she asked.
"Yes. Sometimes you get a little more. This show doesn't pay very much."
"I get twelve," said Carrie.
"Do you?" said the girl. "They pay me fifteen, and you do more work than I do. I wouldn't stand it if I were you. They're just giving you less because they think you don't know. You ought to be making fifteen."
"Well, I'm not," said Carrie.
"Well, you'll get more at the next place if you want it," went on the girl, who admired Carrie very much. "You do fine, and the manager knows it."
To say the truth, Carrie did unconsciously move about with an air pleasing and somewhat distinctive. It was due wholly to her natural manner and total lack of self-consciousness.
"Do you suppose I could get more up at the Broadway?"
"Of course you can," answered the girl. "You come with me when I go. I'll do the talking."
Carrie heard this, flushing with thankfulness. She liked this little gaslight soldier. She seemed so experienced and self-reliant in her tinsel helmet and military accoutrements.
"My future must be assured if I can always get work this way," thought Carrie.
Still, in the morning, when her household duties would infringe upon her and Hurstwood sat there, a perfect load to contemplate, her fate seemed dismal and unrelieved. It did not take so very much to feed them under Hurstwood's close-measured buying, and there would possibly be enough for rent, but it left nothing else. Carrie bought the shoes and some other things, which complicated the rent problem very seriously. Suddenly, a week from the fatal day, Carrie realised that they were going to run short.
"I don't believe," she exclaimed, looking into her purse at breakfast, "that I'll have enough to pay the rent."
"How much have you?" inquired Hurstwood.
"Well, I've got twenty-two dollars, but there's everything to be paid for this week yet, and if I use all I get Saturday to pay this, there won't be any left for next week. Do you think your hotel man will open his hotel this month?"
"I think so," returned Hurstwood. "He said he would."
After a while, Hurstwood said:
"Don't worry about it. Maybe the grocer will wait. He can do that. We've traded there long enough to make him trust us for a week or two."
"Do you think he will?" she asked.
"I think so."
On this account, Hurstwood, this very day, looked grocer Oeslogge clearly in the eye as he ordered a pound of coffee, and said:
"Do you mind carrying my account until the end of every week?"
"No, no, Mr. Wheeler," said Mr. Oeslogge. "Dat iss all right."
Hurstwood, still tactful in distress, added nothing to this. It seemed an easy thing. He looked out of the door, and then gathered up his coffee when ready and came away. The game of a desperate man had begun.
Rent was paid, and now came the grocer. Hurstwood managed by paving out of his own ten and collecting from Carrie at the end of the week. Then he delayed a day next time settling with the grocer, and so soon had his ten back, with Oeslogge getting his pay on this Thursday or Friday for last Saturday's bill.
This entanglement made Carrie anxious for a change of some sort. Hurstwood did not seem to realise that she had a right to anything. He schemed to make what she earned cover all expenses, but seemed not to trouble over adding anything himself.
"He talks about worrying," thought Carrie. "If he worried enough he couldn't sit there and wait for me. He'd get something to do. No man could go seven months without finding something if he tried."
The sight of him always around in his untidy clothes and gloomy appearance drove Carrie to seek relief in other places. Twice a week there were matinees, and then Hurstwood ate a cold snack, which he prepared himself. Two other days there were rehearsals beginning at ten in the morning and lasting usually until one. Now, to this Carrie added a few visits to one or two chorus girls, including the blue-eyed soldier of the golden helmet. She did it because it was pleasant and a relief from dulness of the home over which her husband brooded.
The blue-eyed soldier's name was Osborne -- Lola Osborne. Her room was in Nineteenth Street near Fourth Avenue, a block now given up wholly to office buildings. Here she had a comfortable back room, looking over a collection of back yards in which grew a number of shade trees pleasant to see.
"Isn't your home in New York?" she asked of Lola one day.
"Yes; but I can't get along with my people. They always want me to do what they want. Do you live here?"
"Yes," said Carrie.
"With your family?"
Carrie was ashamed to say that she was married. She had talked so much about getting more salary and confessed to so much anxiety about her future, that now, when the direct question of fact was waiting, she could not tell this girl.
"With some relatives," she answered.
Miss Osborne took it for granted that, like herself, Carrie's time was her own. She invariably asked her to stay, proposing little outings and other things of that sort until Carrie began neglecting her dinner hours. Hurstwood noticed it, but felt in no position to quarrel with her. Several times she came so late as scarcely to have an hour in which to patch up a meal and start for the theatre.
"Do you rehearse in the afternoons?" Hurstwood once asked, concealing almost completely the cynical protest and regret which prompted it.
"No; I was looking around for another place," said Carrie.
As a matter of fact she was, but only in such a way as furnished the least straw of an excuse. Miss Osborne and she had gone to the office of the manager who was to produce the new opera at the Broadway and returned straight to the former's room, where they had been since three o'clock.
Carrie felt this question to be an infringement on her liberty. She did not take into account how much liberty she was securing. Only the last step, the newest freedom, must not be questioned.
Hurstwood saw it all clearly enough. He was shrewd after his kind, and yet there was enough decency in the man to stop him from making an effectual protest. In his almost inexplicable apathy he was content to droop supinely while Carrie drifted out of his life, just as he was willing supinely to see opportunity pass beyond his control. He could not help clinging and protesting in a mild, irritating, and ineffectual way, however -- a way that simply widened the breach by slow degrees.
A further enlargement of this chasm between them came when the manager, looking between the wings upon the brightly lighted stage where the chorus was going through some of its glittering evolutions, said to the master of the ballet:
"Who is that fourth girl there on the right -- the one coming round at the end now?"
"Oh," said the ballet-master, "that's Miss Madenda."
"She's good looking. Why don't you let her head that line?"
"I will," said the man.
"Just do that. She'll look better there than the woman you've got."
"All right. I will do that," said the master.
The next evening Carrie was called out, much as if for an error.
"You lead your company to-night," said the master.
"Yes, sir," said Carrie.
"Put snap into it," he added. "We must have snap."
"Yes, sir," replied Carrie.
Astonished at this change, she thought that the heretofore leader must be ill; but when she saw her in the line, with a distinct expression of something unfavourable in her eye, she began to think that perhaps it was merit.
She had a chic way of tossing her head to one side, and holding her arms as if for action -- not listlessly. In front of the line this showed up even more effectually.
"That girl knows how to carry herself," said the manager, another evening. He began to think that he should like to talk with her. If he hadn't made it a rule to have nothing to do with the members of the chorus, he would have approached her most unbendingly.
"Put that girl at the head of the white column," he suggested to the man in charge of the ballet.
This white column consisted of some twenty girls, all in snow-white flannel trimmed with silver and blue. Its leader was most stunningly arrayed in the same colours, elaborated, however, with epaulets and a belt of silver, with a short sword dangling at one side. Carrie was fitted for this costume, and a few days later appeared, proud of her new laurels. She was especially gratified to find that her salary was now eighteen instead of twelve.
Hurstwood heard nothing about this.
"I'll not give him the rest of my money," said Carrie. "I do enough. I am going to get me something to wear."
As a matter of fact, during this second month she had been buying for herself as recklessly as she dared, regardless of the consequences. There were impending more complications rent day and more extension of the credit system in the neighbourhood. Now, however, she proposed to do better by herself.
Her first move was to buy a shirt waist, and in studying these she found how little her money would buy -- how much, if she could only use all. She forgot that if she were alone she would have to pay for a room and board, and imagined that every cent of her eighteen could be spent for clothes and things that she liked.
At last she picked upon something, which not only used up all her surplus above twelve, but invaded that sum. She knew she was going too far, but her feminine love of finery prevailed. The next day Hurstwood said:
"We owe the grocer five dollars and forty cents this week."
"Do we?" said Carrie, frowning a little.
She looked in her purse to leave it.
"I've only got eight dollars and twenty cents altogether."
"We owe the milkman sixty cents," added Hurstwood.
"Yes, and there's the coal man," said Carrie.
Hurstwood said nothing. He had seen the new things she was buying; the way she was neglecting household duties; the readiness with which she was slipping out afternoons and staying. He felt that something was going to happen. All at once she spoke:
"I don't know," she said; "I can't do it all. I don't earn enough."
This was a direct challenge. Hurstwood had to take it up. He tried to be calm.
"I don't want you to do it all," he said. "I only want a little help until I can get something to do."
"Oh, yes," answered Carrie. "That's always the way. It takes more than I can earn to pay for things. I don't see what I'm going to do."
"Well, I've tried to get something," he exclaimed. "What do you want me to do?"
"You couldn't have tried so very hard," said Carrie. "I got something."
"Well, I did," he said, angered almost to harsh words. "You needn't throw up your success to me. All I asked was a little help until I could get something. I'm not down yet. I'll come up all right."
He tried to speak steadily, but his voice trembled a little.
Carrie's anger melted on the instant. She felt ashamed.
"Well," she said, "here's the money," and emptied it out on the table. "I haven't got quite enough to pay it all. If they can wait until Saturday, though, I'll have some more."
"You keep it," said Hurstwood, sadly. "I only want enough to pay the grocer."
She put it back, and proceeded to get dinner early and in good time. Her little bravado made her feel as if she ought to make amends.
In a little while their old thoughts returned to both.
"She's making more than she says," thought Hurstwood. "She says she's making twelve, but that wouldn't buy all those things. I don't care. Let her keep her money. I'll get something again one of these days. Then she can go to the deuce."
He only said this in his anger, but it prefigured a possible course of action and attitude well enough.
"I don't care," thought Carrie. "He ought to be told to get out and do something. It isn't right that I should support him."
In these days Carrie was introduced to several youths, friends of Miss Osborne, who were of the kind most aptly described as gay and festive. They called once to get Miss Osborne for an afternoon drive. Carrie was with her at the time.
"Come and go along," said Lola.
"No, I can't," said Carrie.
"Oh, yes, come and go. What have you got to do?"
"I have to be home by five," said Carrie.
"What for?"
"Oh, dinner."
"They'll take us to dinner," said Lola.
"Oh, no," said Carrie. "I won't go. I can't."
"Oh, do come. They're awful nice boys. We'll get you back in time. We're only going for a drive in Central Park."
Carrie thought a while, and at last yielded.
"Now, I must be back by half-past four," she said.
The information went in one ear of Lola and out the other.
After Drouet and Hurstwood, there was the least touch of cynicism in her attitude toward young men -- especially of the gay and frivolous sort. She felt a little older than they. Some of their pretty compliments seemed silly. Still, she was young in heart and body and youth appealed to her.
"Oh, we'll be right back, Miss Madenda," said one of the chaps, bowing. "You wouldn't think we'd keep you over time, now, would you?"
"Well, I don't know," said Carrie, smiling.
They were off for a drive -- she, looking about and noticing fine clothing, the young men voicing those silly pleasantries and weak quips which pass for humour in coy circles. Carrie saw the great park parade of carriages, beginning at the Fifty-ninth Street entrance and winding past the Museum of Art to the exit at One Hundred and Tenth Street and Seventh Avenue. Her eye was once more taken by the show of wealth -- the elaborate costumes, elegant harnesses, spirited horses, and, above all, the beauty. Once more the plague of poverty galled her, but now she forgot in a measure her own troubles so far as to forget Hurstwood. He waited until four, five, and even six. It was getting dark when he got up out of his chair.
"I guess she isn't coming home," he said, grimly.
"That's the way," he thought. "She's getting a start now. I'm out of it."
Carrie had really discovered her neglect, but only at a quarter after five, and the open carriage was now far up Seventh Avenue, near the Harlem River.
"What time is it?" she inquired. "I must be getting back."
"A quarter after five," said her companion, consulting an elegant, open-faced watch.
"Oh, dear me!" exclaimed Carrie. Then she settled back with a sigh. "There's no use crying over spilt milk," she said. "It's too late."
"Of course it is," said the youth, who saw visions of a fine dinner now, and such invigorating talk as would result in a reunion after the show. He was greatly taken with Carrie. "We'll drive down to Delmonico's now and have something there, won't we, Orrin?"
"To be sure," replied Orrin, gaily.
Carrie thought of Hurstwood. Never before had she neglected dinner without an excuse.
They drove back, and at 6.15 sat down to dine. It was the Sherry incident over again, the remembrance of which came painfully back to Carrie. She remembered Mrs. Vance, who had never called again after Hurstwood's reception, and Ames.
At this figure her mind halted. It was a strong, clean vision. He liked better books than she read, better people than she associated with. His ideals burned in her heart.
"It's fine to be a good actress," came distinctly back.
What sort of an actress was she?
"What are you thinking about, Miss Madenda?" inquired her merry companion. "Come, now, let's see if I can guess."
"Oh, no," said Carrie. "Don't try."
She shook it off and ate. She forgot, in part, and was merry. When it came to the after-theatre proposition, however, she shook her head.
"No," she said, "I can't. I have a previous engagement."
"Oh, now, Miss Madenda," pleaded the youth.
"No," said Carrie, "I can't. You've been so kind, but you'll have to excuse me."
The youth looked exceedingly crestfallen.
"Cheer up, old man," whispered his companion. "We'll go around, anyhow. She may change her mind."
这个决心在赫斯渥身上产生的结果是，他更加相信每一个特定的日子都不是找事做的好日子。与此同时，嘉莉却度过了三十个精神痛苦的日子。 她对衣物的需求--更不必说她对装饰物的欲望--随着现实的发展而迅速增加，现实表明，尽管她已在工作，她的需求仍然得不到满足。她有了这些新的想要体面的迫切要求之后，当赫斯渥求她帮助他度过难关时，她对他抱有的那份同情就消失了。他没有总是重提他的要求，而这爱美的愿望却一直在提着要求。这种愿望的要求十分坚决，嘉莉也希望能够如愿以偿，于是就越来越希望赫斯渥不要挡她的道。
当赫斯渥差不多只剩下最后１０块钱时，他想自己最好还是留点零用钱，不要弄得连乘车、修面之类的费用都要完全依赖于人。因此，当他手头还剩下１０块钱时，他就宣布自己已经身无分文了。
“我是一文不名了，”一天下午，他对嘉莉说。“今天早上我付了一些煤钱，这样一来，只剩下１毛或者１毛５分钱了。”“我那边的钱包里还有一些钱。”赫斯渥走过去拿了钱，开始是为了买一罐番茄。嘉莉几乎没有注意到这就是新秩序的开始。他拿了１毛５分钱，用这钱买了罐头。此后，他就是这样一点一点地向她要钱，直到有一天早晨，嘉莉突然想起她要到吃晚饭的时候才能回来。
“我们的面粉全吃光了，”她说，“你最好下午去买一些。鲜肉也吃完了。你看我们吃些肝和咸肉行吗？”“行啊，”赫斯渥说。
“最好是买半磅或者３A４磅。”
“半磅就够了，”赫斯渥主动地说。
她打开钱包，拿出５毛钱放在桌上。他假装没有看见。
赫斯渥花了１毛３分钱买了一袋３磅半的面粉--所有食品商卖的面粉都是这种包装，又花了１毛５分钱买了半磅肝和咸肉。他把这些东西和２毛２分钱的找头，放在厨房的桌子上，嘉莉是在那里看见的。找头一分不少。这没有逃过她的眼睛。当她意识到，他原来只是想从她这里讨口饭吃的时候，她有点伤心了。她觉得对他太苛刻似乎不大公平。也许他还会找到事做。他也没干什么坏事。
可是，就在那天晚上，当她走进戏院时，一个群舞队的姑娘，穿着一身崭新的漂亮的杂色的花呢套装从她身边走过，这套衣服吸引住了嘉莉的目光。这个年轻的姑娘佩戴着一束精美的紫罗兰，看上去情绪高涨。她走过时善意地对嘉莉笑了笑，露出漂亮、整齐的牙齿，嘉莉也对她笑了笑。
“她打扮得起，”嘉莉想，“我也一样，只要我能把自己的钱留下来。我连一条像样的领带都没有。”她伸出一只脚，看着她的鞋子发愣。
“无论如何，我星期六都要去买双鞋。我才不管会发生什么事呢。”剧团群舞队的演员中有一个最可爱、最富有同情心的小姑娘和她交上了朋友，因为在嘉莉身上，她没有发现任何令她望而生畏的东西。她是一个快乐的小曼依，对社会上严格的道德观点丝毫不懂，然而对她周围的人却很和善宽厚。群舞队的演员很少有交谈的自由，不过还是有一些交谈的。
“今天晚上很暖和，是吗？”这个姑娘说，她穿着肉色的紧身衣，戴着金色的假头盔。她还拿着一面闪闪发亮的盾牌。
“是啊，是很暖和，”嘉莉很高兴居然会有人和她说话。
“我像是在炉子里烤着，”姑娘说。
嘉莉仔细看着她那有着一双蓝色的大眼睛的漂亮的脸庞，发现她脸上有了小小的汗珠。
“这出歌剧中，大步走的动作比我以前演过的任何戏中都要多，”姑娘补充说道。
“你还演过别的戏吗？”嘉莉问，对她的经历很感吃惊。
“多得很，”姑娘说，“你呢？”
“我这是第一次。”
“哦，是吗？我还以为《皇后的配偶》在这里上演的时候，我见过你呢。”“不，”嘉莉摇摇头说，“那不是我。”这段谈话被乐队的吹奏声和舞台两侧电石灯的噼啪声打断了，这时群舞队员们被叫来排好队，准备再次上常这以后没再出现谈话的机会。可是第二天晚上，当她们在作上台的准备时，这个姑娘又出现在她的身边。
“他们说这台戏下个月要出去巡回演出。”“是吗？”嘉莉说。
“是的，你想去吗？”
“我不知道。要是他们让我去的话，我想我会去的。”“哦，他们会让你去的。我可不愿意去。他们不会多给你薪水，而你要把挣来的钱全用在生活费上。我从不离开纽约。
这里上演的戏可多着呢。”
“你总是能找到别的戏演吗？”
“我总是找得到的。这个月就有一台戏在百老汇剧院上演。如果这台戏真要出演的话，我就打算去那家试试，找个角色演演。”嘉莉听着这些，恍然大悟。很显然，要混下去并不十分困难。倘若这台戏出去演，也许她也能再找到一个角色。
“他们付的薪水都差不多吗？”她问。
“是的。有时候你可以稍微多拿一点。这一家给得可不太多。”“我拿１２块，“嘉莉说。
“是吗？”姑娘说。“他们给我１５块。而你的戏比我的重。
要是我是你的话，我可受不了这个。他们少付你薪水，就是因为他们认为你不知道。你应该能挣１５块的。”“唉，我可没挣到这么多，”嘉莉说。
“那么，如果你愿意的话，换个地方就能多挣一些，”姑娘接着说，她非常喜欢嘉莉。“你演得很好的，经理是知道的。”说实话，嘉莉的表演确实具有一种令人赏心悦目且有几分与众不同的风采，她自己并没有意识到这一点。这完全是由于她姿态自然，毫无忸怩。
“你认为我去百老汇剧院能多挣一些吗？”“你当然能多挣一些，”姑娘回答。“等我去的时候，你和我一起。我来和他们谈。”嘉莉听到这里，感激得脸都红了。她喜欢这个扮演士兵的小姑娘。她戴着金箔头盔，佩着士兵装备，看上去经验丰富，信心十足。
“如果我总能这样找到工作的话，我的将来就一定有保障了，”嘉莉想。
可是，到了早晨，她受到家务的骚扰，而赫斯渥则坐在那里，俨然一个累赘，这时她的命运还是显得凄惨而沉重。在赫斯渥的精打细算下，他们吃饭的开销并不太大，可能还有足够的钱付房租，但是这样也就所剩无几了。嘉莉买了鞋和其它一些东西，这就使房租问题变得十分严重。在那个不幸的付房租的日子前一个星期，嘉莉突然发现钱快用完了。
“我看，”早饭时，她看着自己的钱包，叫了起来，“我没有足够的钱付房租了。”“你还有多少钱？”赫斯渥问。
“喔，我还有２２块钱。但是还有这个星期的所有费用要付，如果我把星期六拿的钱全部用来付房租的话，那么下星期就一分钱也没有了。你认为你那个开旅馆的人这个月会开张吗？”“我想会的，”赫斯渥回答。“他说过要开的。”过了一会儿，赫斯渥说：“别担心了。也许食品店的老板会愿意等一等。他能等的。
我们和他打了这么久的交道，他会相信我们，让我们赊欠一两个星期的。”“你认为他会愿意吗？"她问。
“我想会的。”
因此，就在这一天，赫斯渥在要１磅咖啡时，坦然地直视着食品店老板奥斯拉格的眼睛，说道：“你给我记个帐，每个周末总付行吗？”“行的，行的，惠勒先生，”奥斯拉格先生说，“这没问题。”赫斯渥贫困中仍不失老练，听了这话就不再说什么了。这看来是件容易的事。他望着门外，然后，等咖啡包好，拿起就走了。一个身处绝境的人的把戏就此开始了。
付过房租，现在又该付食品店老板了。赫斯渥设法用自己那１０块钱先付上，到周末再向嘉莉要。然后，到了下一次，他推迟一天和食品店老板结帐，这样很快他那１０块钱又回来了，而奥斯拉格要到星期四或星期五才能收到上星期六的欠帐。
这种纠葛弄得嘉莉急于改变一下。赫斯渥好像没有意识到她有权做任何事情。他只是挖空心思地用她的收入来应付所有的开支，但是并不想自己设法来增加一点收入。
“他说他在发愁，”嘉莉想，“要是他真的很发愁的话，他就不会坐在那里，等着我拿钱了。他应该找些事情做。只要努力去找，谁也不会七个月都找不到事做的。”看他总是呆在家里，衣着不整，愁容满面，嘉莉不得不去别的地方寻求安慰。她一星期有两场日戏，这时赫斯渥就吃自己做的冷快餐。另有两天，排演从上午１０点开始，一般要练到下午１点钟。除了这些以外，嘉莉现在又加上了几次去拜访一两个群舞队演员，其中包括那个戴着金色头盔的蓝眼睛士兵。
她去拜访她们，因为这使她感到愉快，她还可以摆脱一下那个枯燥无味的家和她那个守在家里发呆的丈夫。
那个蓝眼睛士兵的名字叫奥斯本--萝拉·奥斯本。她住在十九街，靠近第四大道，这片街区全都造上了办公大楼。
她在这里有一间舒适的后房间，能看见下面的很多后院，院子里种着一些遮阴的树木，看上去十分宜人。
“你家不在纽约吗？"一天，她问萝拉。
“在的，但是我和家里的人相处不好。他们总是要我按照他们的意愿去做。你住在这里吗？”“是的，"嘉莉说。
“和你家里人住在一起？”
嘉莉不好意思说自己已经结婚了。她多次谈起过关于多挣薪水的愿望，多次表露过对自己将来的忧虑。可是现在，当她被直接问及事实，等候回答时，她却无法告诉这个姑娘了。
“和亲戚住在一起，”她回答。
奥斯本小姐想当然地认为，像她自己一样，嘉莉的时间属于她自己。她总是叫她多待一下，建议出去玩一会儿和做一些其它类似的事，这样一来嘉莉开始忘记吃晚饭的时间了。赫斯渥注意到了这一点，但是觉得无权埋怨她。有几次她回来得太晚，只剩不到一个钟头的时间，匆忙凑合着吃了一顿饭，就动身去戏院了。
“你们下午也排演吗？”一次，赫斯渥问道。他问这话本来是想用讥讽的口气表示一下抗议和遗憾，但是问话时，他几乎把自己的本意完全掩盖住了。
“不，我在另找一份工作，”嘉莉说。
事实上她的确是在找，但是说这话只是提供了一个非常牵强的借口，奥斯本小姐和她去了那位即将在百老汇剧院上演新歌剧的经理的办公室，然后直接回到了奥斯本小姐的住处，３点钟以后她们一直待在那里。
嘉莉觉得这个问题是对她的自由的侵犯。她并不考虑自己已获得了多少自由。只是觉得她最近的行动，也是她最新获得的自由，不应该受到质问。
这一切赫斯渥都看得清清楚楚。他有他的精明之处，可是这个人很好面子，这妨碍了他提出任何有力的抗议。他的那种几乎无法理解的冷漠，使得他在嘉莉游离出他的生活的时候，还能得过且过地满足于自我消沉，就像他能得过且过地甘愿看着机会从他的掌握之中流失一样。他又不禁恋恋不舍，以一种温和、恼人而无力的方式表示着抗议。然而，这种方式只是逐渐地扩大了他们之间的裂痕。
他们之间的裂痕又进一步加大了，这是因为当经理从舞台的两侧之间，看着群舞队在被灯光照得雪亮的台上表演一些令人眼花缭乱的规定动作时，对群舞队的主管说了一番话。
“那个右边的第四个姑娘是谁--就是正在那一头转过来的那一个？”“哦，”群舞队的主管说，“那是麦登达小姐。”“她长得很漂亮。你为什么不让她领那一队呢？”“我会照你的意思办的，”那人说。
“就这么办，她在那个位置要比你现在的这一个好看些。”“好的，我一定照办，”主管说。
第二天晚上，嘉莉被叫出队来，很像是做错了什么。
“今天晚上你领这一队，”主管说。
“是，先生，”嘉莉说。
“要演得起劲一些，”他又说，“我们得演得有劲儿才行。”“是，先生，”嘉莉回答。
她对这个变动很感惊讶，以为原来的领队一定是病了，但是当她看见她还在队伍里，眼睛里明显地流露出不高兴时，她开始意识到也许是因为她更强一些。
她那把头甩向一侧，摆好双臂像是要做动作的姿势非常潇洒，显得精神十足。站在队伍的前头，这种姿势得到更加充分的表现。
“那个姑娘懂得怎样保持自己的姿势优美，”又一天晚上，经理说。他开始想要和她谈谈了。如果他没有定下规矩，不和群舞队队员有任何来往的话，他会毫不拘束地去找她。
“把那个姑娘放在白衣队的前头，”他对群舞队的主管建议道。
这支白衣队伍由大约二十个姑娘组成，全都穿着镶有银色和蓝色花边的雪白的法兰绒衣裙。领队的穿着最为夺目。同样的白色衣裙，但是要精致得多，佩带着肩章和银色腰带，一侧还挂着一柄短剑。嘉莉去试穿了这套戏装，几天后就这样登台了，她对自己这些新的荣誉很是得意。她感到特别满意的是，她知道自己的薪水现在由１２块钱变成了１８块钱。
赫斯渥对此一无所知。
“我不会把我多加的钱给他的，”嘉莉说，“我给得够多了。
我要为自己买些衣服穿。”
实际上，在这第二个月里，她一直尽可能大胆地、不顾一切地为自己买东西，毫不考虑后果。付房租的日子临头时的麻烦更多了，在附近买东西的赊帐范围也更广了。可是现在，她却打算对自己更大方一些。
她第一步是想买一件仿男式衬衫。在选购衬衫时，她发现她的钱能买的东西太少了--要是全部的钱都归她用，那样就能买很多东西了。她忘了如果她单过，她还得付房租和饭钱，而只是想象着她那１８块钱的每一个子儿都能用来购买她喜欢的衣服和东西。
最后，她挑中了一些东西，不仅用完了１２块钱以外的全部多加的钱，而且还透支了那１２块钱。她知道自己做得太过份了，但是她那喜欢漂亮衣服的女人天性占了上风。第二天赫斯渥说：“这星期我们欠了食品店老板５块４毛钱。”“是吗？”嘉莉说，稍稍皱了皱眉头。
她看着钱包里面，准备拿出钱来。
“我一共只有８块２毛钱了。”
“我们还欠送牛奶的６毛钱，”赫斯渥补充说。
“是啊，还有送煤的，”嘉莉说。
赫斯渥不说话了。他已经看见了她买的那些新东西，她那不顾家务的情形，还有她动辄就要在下午溜出去，迟迟不归。
他感到有什么事要发生了。突然，她开口说道：“我不知该不该说，”她说，“可是我无法负担一切。我挣的钱不够。”这是个公开的挑战。赫斯渥不得不应战。他努力保持着冷静。
“我并没有要你负担一切，”他说，“我只是要你帮点忙，等我找到事做。”“哦，是啊，”嘉莉说，“总是这句话。我是入不敷出。我不知道怎么办才好。”“咳，我也在努力找事做嘛！”他叫了起来。“你要我怎么办呢？”“你也许还不够卖力吧？”嘉莉说，“我可是找到事做了。”“嘿，我很卖力的，”他说，气得几乎要说难听的话了。“你不用向我炫耀你的成功。我只是要你帮点忙，等我找到事做。
我还没有完蛋呢。我会好起来的。”
他努力说得很坚定，但是他的声音有一点颤抖。
嘉莉立刻消了气。她感到惭愧了。
“好啦，”她说，“给你钱吧，”把钱包里的钱全倒在桌上。
“我的钱不够付全部赊帐。不过，要是他们能等到星期六，我还会拿到一些钱。”“你留着吧，”赫斯渥伤心地说，“我只要够付食品店老板的钱就行了。”她把钱放回钱包，就去早早准备晚饭，以便按时开饭。她这样闹了一下之后，觉得自己似乎应该作些补偿。
过了一会儿，他们又像以前一样各想各的了。
“她挣的钱比她说的要多，”赫斯渥想。“她说她挣１２块钱，但是这个数是买不了那么多东西的。我也不在乎。就让她留着她的钱吧。我总有一天会找到事做的。到那时就叫她见鬼去吧。”他只是在气头上说了这些话，但这却充分预示了一种可能的事态发展以及对此的态度。
“我才不管呢，”嘉莉想，“应该有人叫他出去，做点事情。
怎么说也不该要我来养活他呀。”
在这些日子里，嘉莉通过介绍认识了几个年轻人，他们是奥斯本小姐的朋友，是那种名符其实的愉快而欢乐的人。一次，他们来找奥斯本小姐，邀下午一起乘马车兜风。当时嘉莉也在她那里。
“走，一起去吧，”萝拉说。
“不，我不能去，”嘉莉说。
“哎呀，能去的，一起去吧，你有什么事情呀？”“我得５点钟到家，”嘉莉说。
“干什么？”
“哦，吃晚饭。”
“他们会请我们吃晚饭的，”萝拉说。
“啊，不，”嘉莉说，“我不去。我不能去。”“哦，去吧，他们是些好小伙子。我们会准时送你回去的。
我们只去中央公园兜兜风。”
嘉莉考虑了一会儿，终于让步了。
“不过，我４点半必须回去，”她说。
这句话从萝拉的一只耳朵进去，又从另一只耳朵出来了。
在杜洛埃和赫斯渥之后，对待青年男子，尤其是对那种冒失而轻浮的人，她的态度总有那么一点讥讽的味道。她觉得自己比他们老成一些。他们说的有些恭维话听起来很愚蠢。然而，她的身心毕竟都还年轻，青年人对她仍有吸引力。
“哦，我们马上就回来，麦登达小姐，”小伙子中的一个鞠了鞠躬说。“现在你相信我们不会耽搁你的，对不对？”“哦，这我就不知道了，”她笑着说。
他们动身去兜风。她环顾四周，留意着华丽的服饰。小伙子们则说着那些愚蠢的笑话和无味的妙语，这在故作忸怩的荡子圈子里就算是幽默了。嘉莉看到了去公园的庞大的马车队伍，从五十九街的入口处开始，绕过艺术博物馆，直到一百一十街和第七大道拐角的出口处。她的目光又一次被这派富裕的景象所吸引--考究的服装，雅致的马具，活泼的马儿，更重要的是，还有美人。贫困的折磨又一次刺痛了她，但是现在，她忘记了赫斯渥，也就多少忘记了一些自己的烦恼。
赫斯渥等到４点、５点、甚至６点钟。当他从椅子里站起来的时候，天已经快黑了。
“我看她是不会回家了，”他冷冷地说。
“就是这么回事，”他想，“她现在崭露头角了。我就没份了。”嘉莉倒是的确发觉了自己的疏忽，但那时已经是５点１刻了，那辆敞篷马车则远在第七大道上，靠近哈莱姆河边。
“几点钟了？”她问。“我得回去了。”
“５点１刻，”她身边的伙伴看了看一只精致的敞面怀表，说道。
“哦，天哪！”嘉莉叫道。然后，她叹了一口气，又靠在座位上。“无法挽回的事，哭也没用了，”她说，“太迟了。”“是太迟了，”那个青年说，这时他在想象着丰盛的晚餐以及怎样能使谈话愉快，以便在散戏之后能再相聚。他对嘉莉很着迷。“我们现在就去德尔莫尼利饭店吃些东西好吗，奥林？”“当然好啦，”奥林高兴地回答。
嘉莉想到了赫斯渥。以前她从来没有无缘无故就不回家吃晚饭的。
他们乘车往回赶，６点１刻时才坐下来吃饭。这是谢丽饭店那晚餐的重演，嘉莉痛苦地回想起当时的情景。她想起了万斯太太，从那次赫斯渥接待了她之后，就再也没有来过。她还想起了艾姆斯。
她的记忆在这个人身上停住了。这是个强烈而清晰的幻象。他喜欢的书比她看的要好，喜欢的人比她结交的要强。他的那些理想在她的心里燃烧。
“当一个好的女演员的确不错，”她又清楚地听到了这句话。
她算个什么样的女演员呢？
“你在想什么，麦登达小姐？”她的那位快乐的伙伴问道。
“好吧，现在让我看看能否猜得出来。”
“哦，不，”嘉莉说，“别猜了。”
她抛开幻想，吃起饭来。她有些把它忘记了，心情倒也愉快。可是当提到散戏之后再见面的事时，她摇了摇头。
“不，”她说，“我不行。我已经有了约会。”“哦，行的，麦登达小姐，”那青年恳求道。
“不，”嘉莉说，“我不行。你对我真好，可我还得请你原谅我。”那青年看上去垂头丧气极了。
“振作一点，老家伙，”他的朋友对着他的耳朵低声说，“不管怎么样，我们都要去一趟那里。她也许会改变主意的。”
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