a wife who could thus be content, and this satisfaction worked its natural result.  That is, since he imagined he saw her satisfied, he felt called upon to give only that which contributed to such satisfaction.  He supplied the furniture, the decorations, the food, and the necessary clothing.  Thoughts of entertaining her, leading her out into the shine and show of life, grew less and less.  He felt attracted to the outer world, but did not think she would care to go along.  Once he went to the theatre alone.  Another time he joined a couple of his new friends at an evening game of poker.  Since his money-feathers were beginning to grow again he felt like sprucing about.  All this, however, in a much less imposing way than had been his wont in Chicago.  He avoided the gay places where he would be apt to meet those who had known him.  Now, Carrie began to feel this in various sensory ways.  She was not the kind to be seriously disturbed by his actions.  Not loving him greatly, she could not be jealous in a disturbing way.  In fact, she was not jealous at all.  Hurstwood was pleased with her placid manner, when he should have duly considered it.  When he did not come home it did not seem anything like a terrible thing to her.  She gave him credit for having the usual allurements of men—­people to talk to, places to stop, friends to consult with.  She was perfectly willing that he should enjoy himself in his way, but she did not care to be neglected herself.  Her state still seemed fairly reasonable, however.  All she did observe was that Hurstwood was somewhat different.

Some time in the second year of their residence in Seventy-eighth Street the flat across the hall from Carrie became vacant, and into it moved a very handsome young woman and her husband, with both of whom Carrie afterwards became acquainted.  This was brought about solely by the arrangement of the flats, which were united in one place, as it were, by the dumb-waiter.  This useful elevator, by which fuel, groceries, and the like were sent up from the basement, and garbage and waste sent down, was used by both residents of one floor; that is, a small door opened into it from each flat.

If the occupants of both flats answered to the whistle of the janitor at the same time, they would stand face to face when they opened the dumb-waiter doors.  One morning, when Carrie went to remove her paper, the newcomer, a handsome brunette of perhaps twenty-three years of age, was there for a like purpose.  She was in a night-robe and dressing-gown, with her hair very much tousled, but she looked so pretty and good-natured that Carrie instantly conceived a liking for her.  The newcomer did no more than smile shamefacedly, but it was sufficient.  Carrie felt that she would like to know her, and a similar feeling stirred in the mind of the other, who admired Carrie’s innocent face.

“That’s a real pretty woman who has moved in next door,” said Carrie to Hurstwood at the breakfast table.