“I intend to,” said Carrie.

The regular entrance of thirty-five dollars a week to one who has endured scant allowances for several years is a demoralizing thing.  Carrie found her purse bursting with good green bills of comfortable denominations.  Having no one dependent upon her, she began to buy pretty clothes and pleasing trinkets, to eat well, and to ornament her room.  Friends were not long in gathering about.  She met a few young men who belonged to Lola’s staff.  The members of the opera company made her acquaintance without the formality of introduction.  One of these discovered a fancy for her.  On several occasions he strolled home with her.

“Let’s stop in and have a rarebit,” he suggested one midnight.

“Very well,” said Carrie.

In the rosy restaurant, filled with the merry lovers of late hours, she found herself criticizing this man.  He was too stilted, too self-opinionated.  He did not talk of anything that lifted her above the common run of clothes and material success.  When it was all over, he smiled most graciously.

“Got to go straight home, have you?” he said.

“Yes,” she answered, with an air of quiet understanding.

“She’s not so inexperienced as she looks,” he thought, and thereafter his respect and ardor were increased.

She could not help sharing in Lola’s love for a good time.  There were days when they went carriage riding, nights when after the show they dined, afternoons when they strolled along Broadway, tastefully dressed.  She was getting in the metropolitan whirl of pleasure.

At last her picture appeared in one of the weeklies.  She had not known of it, and it took her breath.  “Miss Carrie Madenda,” it was labeled.  “One of the favorites of ‘The Wives of Abdul’ company.”  At Lola’s advice she had had some pictures taken by Sarony.  They had got one there.  She thought of going down and buying a few copies of the paper, but remembered that there was no one she knew well enough to send them to.  Only Lola, apparently, in all the world was interested.

The metropolis is a cold place socially, and Carrie soon found that a little money brought her nothing.  The world of wealth and distinction was quite as far away as ever.  She could feel that there was no warm, sympathetic friendship back of the easy merriment with which many approached her.  All seemed to be seeking their own amusement, regardless of the possible sad consequence to others.  So much for the lessons of Hurstwood and Drouet.

In April she learned that the opera would probably last until the middle or the end of May, according to the size of the audiences.  Next season it would go on the road.  She wondered if she would be with it.  As usual, Miss Osborne, owing to her moderate salary, was for securing a home engagement.

“They’re putting on a summer play at the Casino,” she announced, after figuratively putting her ear to the ground.  “Let’s try and get in that.”