Carrie observed his ease with some misgiving.  For all the fury of the storm she doubted his comfort.  He took his situation too philosophically.

Hurstwood, however, read on and on.  He did not pay much attention to Carrie.  She fulfilled her household duties and said little to disturb him.

The next day it was still snowing, and the next, bitter cold.  Hurstwood took the alarm of the paper and sat still.  Now he volunteered to do a few other little things.  One was to go to the butcher, another to the grocery.  He really thought nothing of these little services in connection with their true significance.  He felt as if he were not wholly useless—­indeed, in such a stress of weather, quite worth while about the house.

On the fourth day, however, it cleared, and he read that the storm was over.  Now, however, he idled, thinking how sloppy the streets would be.

It was noon before he finally abandoned his papers and got under way.  Owing to the slightly warmer temperature the streets were bad.  He went across Fourteenth Street on the car and got a transfer south on Broadway.  One little advertisement he had, relating to a saloon down in Pearl Street.  When he reached the Broadway Central, however, he changed his mind.

“What’s the use?” he thought, looking out upon the slop and snow.  “I couldn’t buy into it.  It’s a thousand to one nothing comes of it.  I guess I’ll get off,” and off he got.  In the lobby he took a seat and waited again, wondering what he could do.

While he was idly pondering, satisfied to be inside, a well dressed man passed up the lobby, stopped, looked sharply, as if not sure of his memory, and then approached.  Hurstwood recognized Cargill, the owner of the large stables in Chicago of the same name, whom he had last seen at Avery Hall, the night Carrie appeared there.  The remembrance of how this individual brought up his wife to shake hands on that occasion was also on the instant clear.

Hurstwood was greatly abashed.  His eyes expressed the difficulty he felt.

“Why, it’s Hurstwood!” said Cargill, remembering now, and sorry that he had not recognized him quickly enough in the beginning to have avoided this meeting.

“Yes,” said Hurstwood.  “How are you?”

“Very well,” said Cargill, troubled for something to talk about.  “Stopping here?”

“No,” said Hurstwood, “just keeping an appointment.”  “I knew you had left Chicago.  I was wondering what had become of you.”

“Oh, I’m here now,” answered Hurstwood, anxious to get away.

“Doing well, I suppose?”

“Excellent.”

“Glad to hear it.”

They looked at one another, rather embarrassed.

“Well, I have an engagement with a friend upstairs.  I’ll leave you.  So long.”

Hurstwood nodded his head.

“Damn it all,” he murmured, turning toward the door.  “I knew that would happen.”