She had looked back at times upon her parting from Drouet and had regretted that she had served him so badly.She hoped she would never meet him again, but she was ashamed of her conduct.Not that she had any choice in the final separation.She had gone willingly to seek him, with sympathy in her heart, when Hurstwood had reported him ill.There was something cruel somewhere, and not being able to track it mentally to its logical lair, she concluded with feeling that he would never understand what Hurstwood had done and would see hard-hearted decision in her deed; hence her shame.Not that she cared for him.She did not want to make any one who had been good to her feel badly.
She did not realise what she was doing by allowing these feelings to possess her.Hurstwood, noticing the kindness, conceived better of her."Carrie's good-natured, anyhow," he thought.
Going to Miss Osborne's that afternoon, she found that little lady packing and singing.
"Why don't you come over with me today?" she asked.
"Oh, I can't," said Carrie."I'll be there Friday.Would you mind lending me the twenty-five dollars you spoke of?"
"Why, no," said Lola, going for her purse.
"I want to get some other things," said Carrie.
"Oh, that's all right," answered the little girl, good-naturedly, glad to be of service.
It had been days since Hurstwood had done more than go to the grocery or to the news-stand.Now the weariness of indoors was upon him--had been for two days--but chill, grey weather had held him back.Friday broke fair and warm.It was one of those lovely harbingers of spring, given as a sign in dreary winter that earth is not forsaken of warmth and beauty.The blue heaven, holding its one golden orb, poured down a crystal wash of warm light.It was plain, from the voice of the sparrows, that all was halcyon outside.Carrie raised the front windows, and felt the south wind blowing.
"It's lovely out to-day," she remarked.
"Is it?" said Hurstwood.
After breakfast, he immediately got his other clothes.
"Will you be back for lunch?" asked Carrie nervously.
"No," he said.
He went out into the streets and tramped north, along Seventh Avenue, idly fixing upon the Harlem River as an objective point.
He had seen some ships up there, the time he had called upon the brewers.He wondered how the territory thereabouts was growing.
Passing Fifty-ninth Street, he took the west side of Central Park, which he followed to Seventy-eighth Street.Then he remembered the neighbourhood and turned over to look at the mass of buildings erected.It was very much improved.The great open spaces were filling up.Coming back, he kept to the Park until 110th Street, and then turned into Seventh Avenue again, reaching the pretty river by one o'clock.
