“A little,” said Carrie.

“Well, we’ll have a game of cards.  If your husband comes home bring him over.”

“He’s not coming to dinner to-night,” said Carrie.

“Well, when he does come we’ll call him in.”

Carrie acquiesced, and that evening met the portly Vance, an individual a few years younger than Hurstwood, and who owed his seemingly comfortable matrimonial state much more to his money than to his good looks.  He thought well of Carrie upon the first glance and laid himself out to be genial, teaching her a new game of cards and talking to her about New York and its pleasures.  Mrs. Vance played some upon the piano, and at last Hurstwood came.

“I am very glad to meet you,” he said to Mrs. Vance when Carrie introduced him, showing much of the old grace which had captivated Carrie.  “Did you think your wife had run away?” said Mr. Vance, extending his hand upon introduction.

“I didn’t know but what she might have found a better husband,” said Hurstwood.

He now turned his attention to Mrs. Vance, and in a flash Carrie saw again what she for some time had subconsciously missed in Hurstwood—­ the adroitness and flattery of which he was capable.  She also saw that she was not well dressed—­not nearly as well dressed—­as Mrs. Vance.  These were not vague ideas any longer.  Her situation was cleared up for her.  She felt that her life was becoming stale, and therein she felt cause for gloom.  The old helpful, urging melancholy was restored.  The desirous Carrie was whispered to concerning her possibilities.

There were no immediate results to this awakening, for Carrie had little power of initiative; but, nevertheless, she seemed ever capable of getting herself into the tide of change where she would be easily borne along.  Hurstwood noticed nothing.  He had been unconscious of the marked contrasts which Carrie had observed.

He did not even detect the shade of melancholy which settled in her eyes.  Worst of all, she now began to feel the loneliness of the flat and seek the company of Mrs. Vance, who liked her exceedingly.

“Let’s go to the matinee this afternoon,” said Mrs. Vance, who had stepped across into Carrie’s flat one morning, still arrayed in a soft pink dressing-gown, which she had donned upon rising.  Hurstwood and Vance had gone their separate ways nearly an hour before.

“All right,” said Carrie, noticing the air of the petted and well-groomed woman in Mrs. Vance’s general appearance.  She looked as though she was dearly loved and her every wish gratified.  “What shall we see?”

“Oh, I do want to see Nat Goodwin,” said Mrs. Vance.  “I do think he is the jolliest actor.  The papers say this is such a good play.”

“What time will we have to start?” asked Carrie.

“Let’s go at once and walk down Broadway from Thirty-fourth Street,” said Mrs. Vance.  “It’s such an interesting walk.  He’s at the Madison Square.”