The upshot of this was that the change was eventually effected; not without great gloom on the part of Carrie.  It really affected her more seriously than anything that had yet happened.  She began to look upon Hurstwood wholly as a man, and not as a lover or husband.  She felt thoroughly bound to him as a wife, and that her lot was cast with his, whatever it might be; but she began to see that he was gloomy and taciturn, not a young, strong, and buoyant man.  He looked a little bit old to her about the eyes and mouth now, and there were other things which placed him in his true rank, so far as her estimation was concerned.  She began to feel that she had made a mistake.  Incidentally, she also began to recall the fact that he had practically forced her to flee with him.

The new flat was located in Thirteenth Street, a half block west of Sixth Avenue, and contained only four rooms.  The new neighborhood did not appeal to Carrie as much.  There were no trees here, no west view of the river.  The street was solidly built up.  There were twelve families here, respectable enough, but nothing like the Vances.  Richer people required more space.

Being left alone in this little place, Carrie did without a girl.  She made it charming enough, but could not make it delight her.  Hurstwood was not inwardly pleased to think that they should have to modify their state, but he argued that he could do nothing.  He must put the best face on it, and let it go at that.

He tried to show Carrie that there was no cause for financial alarm, but only congratulation over the chance he would have at the end of the year by taking her rather more frequently to the theatre and by providing a liberal table.  This was for the time only.  He was getting in the frame of mind where he wanted principally to be alone and to be allowed to think.  The disease of brooding was beginning to claim him as a victim.  Only the newspapers and his own thoughts were worth while.  The delight of love had again slipped away.  It was a case of live, now, making the best you can out of a very commonplace station in life.

The road downward has but few landings and level places.  The very state of his mind, super induced by his condition, caused the breach to widen between him and his partner.  At last that individual began to wish that Hurstwood was out of it.  It so happened, however, that a real estate deal on the part of the owner of the land arranged things even more effectually than ill will could have schemed.

“Did you see that?” said Shaughnessy one morning to Hurstwood, pointing to the real estate column in a copy of the “Herald,” which he held.

“No, what is it?” said Hurstwood, looking down the items of news.

“The man who owns this ground has sold it.”

“You don’t say so?” said Hurstwood.

He looked, and there was the notice.  Mr. August Viele had yesterday registered the transfer of the lot, 25 x 75 feet, at the corner of Warren and Hudson Streets, to J. F. Slawson for the sum of $57,000.