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 labored 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.”