Carrie looked at him and felt justified.  She was looking for something which would calm her conscience, and here it was, a light, airy disregard of her claims upon his justice.  He had faithfully promised to marry her, and this was the way he fulfilled his promise.

“Say,” he said, after he had, as he thought, pleasantly disposed of the marriage question, “I saw Hurstwood to-day, and he wants us to go to the theatre with him.”

Carrie started at the name, but recovered quickly enough to avoid notice.

“When?” she asked, with assumed indifference.

“Wednesday.  We’ll go, won’t we?”

“If you think so,” she answered, her manner being so enforcedly reserved as to almost excite suspicion.  Drouet noticed something but he thought it was due to her feelings concerning their talk about marriage.  “He called once, he said.”

“Yes,” said Carrie, “he was out here Sunday evening.”

“Was he?” said Drouet.  “I thought from what he said that he had called a week or so ago.”

“So he did,” answered Carrie, who was wholly unaware of what conversation her lovers might have held.  She was all at sea mentally, and fearful of some entanglement which might ensue from what she would answer.

“Oh, then he called twice?” said Drouet, the first shade of misunderstanding showing in his face.

“Yes,” said Carrie innocently, feeling now that Hurstwood must have mentioned but one call.

Drouet imagined that he must have misunderstood his friend.  He did not attach particular importance to the information, after all.

“What did he have to say?” he queried, with slightly increased curiosity.

“He said he came because he thought I might be lonely.  You hadn’t been in there so long he wondered what had become of you.”

“George is a fine fellow,” said Drouet, rather gratified by his conception of the manager’s interest.  “Come on and we’ll go out to dinner.”

When Hurstwood saw that Drouet was back he wrote at once to Carrie, saying: 

“I told him I called on you, dearest, when he was away.  I did not say how often, but he probably thought once.  Let me know of anything you may have said.  Answer by special messenger when you get this, and, darling, I must see you.  Let me know if you can’t meet me at Jackson and Throop Streets Wednesday afternoon at two o’clock.  I want to speak with you before we meet at the theatre.”

Carrie received this Tuesday morning when she called at the West Side branch of the post-office, and answered at once.

“I said you called twice,” she wrote.  “He didn’t seem to mind.  I will try and be at Throop Street if nothing interferes.  I seem to be getting very bad.  It’s wrong to act as I do, I know.”

Hurstwood, when he met her as agreed, reassured her on this score.

“You mustn’t worry, sweetheart,” he said.  “Just as soon as he goes on the road again we will arrange something.  We’ll fix it so that you won’t have to deceive any one.”