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.”