“What other things?”

“Why, you could—­you could teach in a school or in a family.”

“No, I couldn’t.  I don’t know enough.  And I wouldn’t like it, either.  And I should have to leave Granny, who wants me, and is fond of me—­”

“And Dick!” burst out Max, spitefully.  “You would have to give up the society of Dick.”

It was possible, even in the darkness, to perceive that this remark startled Carrie.  She said, in astonishment which she could not hide: 

“And what do you know about Dick?”

“I know that you wouldn’t care for a life that is repugnant to every notion of decency, if it were not for Dick,” retorted Max, with rash warmth.

Carrie laughed again.

“I’m afraid you got your information from the wrong quarter,” said she, quietly.  “Not from Dick himself, that’s certain.”

There was some relief to Max in this confident assertion, but not much.  Judging Dick by his own feelings, he was sure that person had not reached the stage of intimacy at which Carrie called him by his Christian name without hankering after further marks of her favor.

“He is fond of you, of course!” said Max, feeling that he had no right to say this, but justifying into himself on the ground of his wish to help her out of her wretched position.

“Well, I suppose he is.”

“Are you—­of course I’ve no right to ask—­but are you fond of him?”

Carrie shook her head with indifference.

“I like him in my way,” said she.  “Not in his way.  There’s a great difference.”

“And do you like any man—­in his way?”

The girl replied with a significant gesture of disgust, which had in it nothing of coquetry, nothing of affectation.

“No,” said she, shortly.

“Why do you answer like that?”

“Why?  Oh, well, if you knew all that I’ve seen, you wouldn’t wonder, you wouldn’t want to ask.”

“You won’t always feel like that.  You won’t, when you have got away from this hole, and are living among decent people.”

“The ‘decent people’ are those who leave me alone,” said Carrie, shortly, “as they do here.”

“As who do here?  Who are the people who live in that shut-up house, besides you and your Granny, as you call her?”

“I—­mustn’t tell you.  They don’t belong to any county families.  Is that enough?”

“Why are you so different now from what you were when we were sitting by the fire in there?  You are not like the same girl!  Are you the same girl?”

And Max affected to feel, or, perhaps, really felt, a doubt which necessitated his coming a little closer to Carrie, without, however, being able to see much more of her face than before.

“I’m the same girl,” replied Carrie, shortly, “whom you threatened with the police.”

“Come, is that fair?  Did I threaten you with the police?”

“You threatened us.  It’s the same thing.  Well, it doesn’t matter.  They won’t find out anything more than we choose!”