He took a Madison car and went direct to Ogden Place this time walking boldly up to the door.  The chambermaid answered his knock.

“Is Mr. Drouet in?” said Hurstwood blandly.

“He is out of the city,” said the girl, who had heard Carrie tell this to Mrs. Hale.

“Is Mrs. Drouet in?”

“No, she has gone to the theatre.”

“Is that so?” said Hurstwood, considerably taken back; then, as if burdened with something important, “You don’t know to which theatre?”

The girl really had no idea where she had gone, but not liking Hurstwood, and wishing to cause him trouble, answered:  “Yes, Hooley’s.”

“Thank you,” returned the manager, and, tipping his hat slightly, went away.

“I’ll look in at Hooley’s,” thought he, but as a matter of fact he did not.  Before he had reached the central portion of the city he thought the whole matter over and decided it would be useless.  As much as he longed to see Carrie, he knew she would be with some one and did not wish to intrude with his plea there.  A little later he might do so—­in the morning.  Only in the morning he had the lawyer question before him.

This little pilgrimage threw quite a wet blanket upon his rising spirits.  He was soon down again to his old worry, and reached the resort anxious to find relief.  Quite a company of gentlemen were making the place lively with their conversation.  A group of Cook County politicians were conferring about a round cherry-wood table in the rear portion of the room.  Several young merrymakers were chattering at the bar before making a belated visit to the theatre.  A shabbily-genteel individual, with a red nose and an old high hat, was sipping a quiet glass of ale alone at one end of the bar.  Hurstwood nodded to the politicians and went into his office.

About ten o’clock a friend of his, Mr. Frank L. Taintor, a local sport and racing man, dropped in, and seeing Hurstwood alone in his office came to the door.

“Hello, George!” he exclaimed.

“How are you, Frank?” said Hurstwood, somewhat relieved by the sight of him.  “Sit down,” and he motioned him to one of the chairs in the little room.

“What’s the matter, George?” asked Taintor.  “You look a little glum.  Haven’t lost at the track, have you?”

“I’m not feeling very well to-night.  I had a slight cold the other day.”

“Take whiskey, George,” said Taintor.  “You ought to know that.”

Hurstwood smiled.

While they were still conferring there, several other of Hurstwood’s friends entered, and not long after eleven, the theatres being out, some actors began to drop in—­among them some notabilities.