“Certainly,” answered Carrie.  “Why?”

“I know where I could get the loveliest room and bath, cheap.  It’s too big for me, but it would be just right for two, and the rent is only six dollars a week for both.”

“Where?” said Carrie.

“In Seventeenth Street.”

“Well, I don’t know as I’d care to change,” said Carrie, who was already turning over the three-dollar rate in her mind.  She was thinking if she had only herself to support this would leave her seventeen for herself.

Nothing came of this until after the Brooklyn adventure of Hurstwood’s and her success with the speaking part.  Then she began to feel as if she must be free.  She thought of leaving Hurstwood and thus making him act for himself, but he had developed such peculiar traits she feared he might resist any effort to throw him off.  He might hunt her out at the show and hound her in that way.  She did not wholly believe that he would, but he might.  This, she knew, would be an embarrassing thing if he made himself conspicuous in any way.  It troubled her greatly.

Things were precipitated by the offer of a better part.  One of the actresses playing the part of a modest sweetheart gave notice of leaving and Carrie was selected.

“How much are you going to get?” asked Miss Osborne, on hearing the good news.

“I didn’t ask him,” said Carrie.

“Well, find out.  Goodness, you’ll never get anything if you don’t ask.  Tell them you must have forty dollars, anyhow.”

“Oh, no,” said Carrie.

“Certainly!” exclaimed Lola.  “Ask ’em, anyway.”

Carrie succumbed to this prompting, waiting, however, until the manager gave her notice of what clothing she must have to fit the part.

“How much do I get?” she inquired.

“Thirty-five dollars,” he replied.

Carrie was too much astonished and delighted to think of mentioning forty.  She was nearly beside herself, and almost hugged Lola, who clung to her at the news.

“It isn’t as much as you ought to get,” said the latter, “especially when you’ve got to buy clothes.”

Carrie remembered this with a start.  Where to get the money?  She had none laid up for such an emergency.  Rent day was drawing near.

“I’ll not do it,” she said, remembering her necessity.  “I don’t use the flat.  I’m not going to give up my money this time.  I’ll move.”

Fitting into this came another appeal from Miss Osborne, more urgent than ever.

“Come live with me, won’t you?” she pleaded.  “We can have the loveliest room.  It won’t cost you hardly anything that way.”

“I’d like to,” said Carrie, frankly.

“Oh, do,” said Lola.  “We’ll have such a good time.”

Carrie thought a while.

“I believe I will,” she said, and then added:  “I’ll have to see first, though.”  With the idea thus grounded, rent day approaching, and clothes calling for instant purchase, she soon found excuse in Hurstwood’s lassitude.  He said less and drooped more than ever.