The Vances, who had been back in the city ever since Christmas, had not forgotten Carrie; but they, or rather Mrs. Vance, had never called on her, for the very simple reason that Carrie had never sent her address.  True to her nature, she corresponded with Mrs. Vance as long as she still lived in Seventy-eighth Street, but when she was compelled to move into Thirteenth, her fear that the latter would take it as an indication of reduced circumstances caused her to study some way of avoiding the necessity of giving her address.  Not finding any convenient method, she sorrowfully resigned the privilege of writing to her friend entirely.  The latter wondered at this strange silence, thought Carrie must have left the city, and in the end gave her up as lost.  So she was thoroughly surprised to encounter her in Fourteenth Street, where she had gone shopping.  Carrie was there for the same purpose.

“Why, Mrs. Wheeler,” said Mrs. Vance, looking Carrie over in a glance, “where have you been?  Why haven’t you been to see me?  I’ve been wondering all this time what had become of you.  Really, I——­”

“I’m so glad to see you,” said Carrie, pleased and yet nonplussed.  Of all times, this was the worst to encounter Mrs. Vance.  “Why, I’m living down town here.  I’ve been intending to come and see you.  Where are you living now?”

“In Fifty-eighth Street,” said Mrs. Vance, “just off Seventh Avenue—­ 218.  Why don’t you come and see me?”

“I will,” said Carrie.  “Really, I’ve been wanting to come.  I know I ought to.  It’s a shame.  But you know——­”

“What’s your number?” said Mrs. Vance.

“Thirteenth Street,” said Carrie, reluctantly. “112 West.”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Vance, “that’s right near here, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Carrie.  “You must come down and see me some time.”

“Well, you’re a fine one,” said Mrs. Vance, laughing, the while noting that Carrie’s appearance had modified somewhat.  “The address, too,” she added to herself.  “They must be hard up.”

Still she liked Carrie well enough to take her in tow.

“Come with me in here a minute,” she exclaimed, turning into a store.

When Carrie returned home, there was Hurstwood, reading as usual.  He seemed to take his condition with the utmost nonchalance.  His beard was at least four days old.

“Oh,” thought Carrie, “if she were to come here and see him?”

She shook her head in absolute misery.  It looked as if her situation was becoming unbearable.

Driven to desperation, she asked at dinner: 

“Did you ever hear any more from that wholesale house?”

“No,” he said.  “They don’t want an inexperienced man.”

Carrie dropped the subject, feeling unable to say more.

“I met Mrs. Vance this afternoon,” she said, after a time.

“Did, eh?” he answered.

“They’re back in New York now,” Carrie went on.  “She did look so nice.”