Carrie stepped along easily enough after they got out of the car at Thirty-fourth Street, but soon fixed her eyes upon the lovely company which swarmed by and with them as they proceeded.  She noticed suddenly that Mrs. Vance’s manner had rather stiffened under the gaze of handsome men and elegantly dressed ladies, whose glances were not modified by any rules of propriety.  To stare seemed the proper and natural thing.  Carrie found herself stared at and ogled.  Men in flawless top-coats, high hats, and silver-headed walking sticks elbowed near and looked too often into conscious eyes.  Ladies rustled by in dresses of stiff cloth, shedding affected smiles and perfume.  Carrie noticed among them the sprinkling of goodness and the heavy percentage of vice.  The rouged and powdered cheeks and lips, the scented hair, the large, misty, and languorous eye, were common enough.  With a start she awoke to find that she was in fashion’s crowd, on parade in a show place—­and such a show place!  Jewelers’ windows gleamed along the path with remarkable frequency.  Florist shops, furriers, haberdashers, confectioners—­all followed in rapid succession.  The street was full of coaches.  Pompous doormen in immense coats, shiny brass belts and buttons, waited in front of expensive salesrooms.  Coachmen in tan boots, white tights, and blue jackets waited obsequiously for the mistresses of carriages who were shopping inside.  The whole street bore the flavor of riches and show, and Carrie felt that she was not of it.  She could not, for the life of her, assume the attitude and smartness of Mrs. Vance, who, in her beauty, was all assurance.  She could only imagine that it must be evident to many that she was the less handsomely dressed of the two.  It cut her to the quick, and she resolved that she would not come here again until she looked better.  At the same time she longed to feel the delight of parading here as an equal.  Ah, then she would be happy!

Chapter XXXII THE FEAST OF BELSHAZZAR—­A SEER TO TRANSLATE

Such feelings as were generated in Carrie by this walk put her in an exceedingly receptive mood for the pathos which followed in the play.  The actor whom they had gone to see had achieved his popularity by presenting a mellow type of comedy, in which sufficient sorrow was introduced to lend contrast and relief to humor.  For Carrie, as we well know, the stage had a great attraction.  She had never forgotten her one histrionic achievement in Chicago.  It dwelt in her mind and occupied her consciousness during many long afternoons in which her rocking chair and her latest novel contributed the only pleasures of her state.  Never could she witness a play without having her own ability vividly brought to consciousness.  Some scenes made her long to be a part of them—­to give expression to the feelings which she, in the place of the character represented, would feel.  Almost invariably she would carry the vivid imaginations away with her and brood over them the next day alone.  She lived as much in these things as in the realities which made up her daily life.