“With no longings for what I may not have,” she breathed in conclusion--and it was almost a sigh—­“my existence hidden from all save two in the wide world, and making my joy out of the joy of that innocent girl who will soon be his wife.”

Hurstwood was sorry when a character, known as Peach Blossom, interrupted her.  He stirred irritably, for he wished her to go on.  He was charmed by the pale face, the lissome figure, draped in pearl gray, with a coiled string of pearls at the throat.  Carrie had the air of one who was weary and in need of protection, and, under the fascinating make-believe of the moment, he rose in feeling until he was ready in spirit to go to her and ease her out of her misery by adding to his own delight.

In a moment Carrie was alone again, and was saying, with animation: 

“I must return to the city, no matter what dangers may lurk here.  I must go, secretly if I can; openly, if I must.”

There was a sound of horses’ hoofs outside, and then Ray’s voice saying:  “No, I shall not ride again.  Put him up.”

He entered, and then began a scene which had as much to do with the creation of the tragedy of affection in Hurstwood as anything in his peculiar and involved career.  For Carrie had resolved to make something of this scene, and, now that the cue had come, it began to take a feeling hold upon her.  Both Hurstwood and Drouet noted the rising sentiment as she proceeded.

“I thought you had gone with Pearl,” she said to her lover.

“I did go part of the way, but I left the Party a mile down the road.”

“You and Pearl had no disagreement?”

“No—­yes; that is, we always have.  Our social barometers always stand at ‘cloudy’ and ‘overcast.’”

“And whose fault is that?” she said, easily.

“Not mine,” he answered, pettishly.  “I know I do all I can—­I say all I can—­but she——­”

This was rather awkwardly put by Patton, but Carrie redeemed it with a grace which was inspiring.

“But she is your wife,” she said, fixing her whole attention upon the stilled actor, and softening the quality of her voice until it was again low and musical.  “Ray, my friend, courtship is the text from which the whole sermon of married life takes its theme.  Do not let yours be discontented and unhappy.”

She put her two little hands together and pressed them appealingly.

Hurstwood gazed with slightly parted lips.  Drouet was fidgeting with satisfaction.

“To be my wife, yes,” went on the actor in a manner which was weak by comparison, but which could not now spoil the tender atmosphere which Carrie had created and maintained.  She did not seem to feel that he was wretched.  She would have done nearly as well with a block of wood.  The accessories she needed were within her own imagination.  The acting of others could not affect them.

“And you repent already?” she said, slowly.