Chapter XII

by Theodore Dreiser

　　OF THE LAMPS OF THE MANSIONS--THE AMBASSADOR PLEAMrs. Hurstwood was not aware of any of her husband's moraldefections, though she might readily have suspected histendencies, which she well understood. She was a woman uponwhose action under provocation you could never count. Hurstwood,for one, had not the slightest idea of what she would do undercertain circumstances. He had never seen her thoroughly aroused.In fact, she was not a woman who would fly into a passion. Shehad too little faith in mankind not to know that they wereerring. She was too calculating to jeopardize any advantage shemight gain in the way of information by fruitless clamour. Herwrath would never wreak itself in one fell blow. She would waitand brood, studying the details and adding to them until herpower might be commensurate with her desire for revenge. At thesame time, she would not delay to inflict any injury, big orlittle, which would wound the object of her revenge and stillleave him uncertain as to the source of the evil. She was acold, self-centred woman, with many a thought of her own whichnever found expression, not even by so much as the glint of aneye.Hurstwood felt some of this in her nature, though he did notactually perceive it. He dwelt with her in peace and somesatisfaction. He did not fear her in the least--there was nocause for it. She still took a faint pride in him, which wasaugmented by her desire to have her social integrity maintained.She was secretly somewhat pleased by the fact that much of herhusband's property was in her name, a precaution which Hurstwoodhad taken when his home interests were somewhat more alluringthan at present. His wife had not the slightest reason to feelthat anything would ever go amiss with their household, and yetthe shadows which run before gave her a thought of the good of itnow and then. She was in a position to become refractory withconsiderable advantage, and Hurstwood conducted himselfcircumspectly because he felt that he could not be sure ofanything once she became dissatisfied.It so happened that on the night when Hurstwood, Carrie, andDrouet were in the box at McVickar's, George, Jr., was in thesixth row of the parquet with the daughter of H. B. Carmichael,the third partner of a wholesale dry-goods house of that city.Hurstwood did not see his son, for he sat, as was his wont, asfar back as possible, leaving himself just partially visible,when he bent forward, to those within the first six rows inquestion. It was his wont to sit this way in every theatre--tomake his personality as inconspicuous as possible where it wouldbe no advantage to him to have it otherwise.He never moved but what, if there was any danger of his conductbeing misconstrued or ill-reported, he looked carefully about himand counted the cost of every inch of conspicuity.The next morning at breakfast his son said:"I saw you, Governor, last night.""Were you at McVickar's?" said Hurstwood, with the best grace inthe world."Yes," said young George."Who with?""Miss Carmichael."Mrs. Hurstwood directed an inquiring glance at her husband, butcould not judge from his appearance whether it was any more thana casual look into the theatre which was referred to."How was the play?" she inquired."Very good," returned Hurstwood, "only it's the same old thing,'Rip Van Winkle.'""Whom did you go with?" queried his wife, with assumedindifference."Charlie Drouet and his wife. They are friends of Moy's,visiting here."Owing to the peculiar nature of his position, such a disclosureas this would ordinarily create no difficulty. His wife took itfor granted that his situation called for certain socialmovements in which she might not be included. But of late he hadpleaded office duty on several occasions when his wife asked forhis company to any evening entertainment. He had done so inregard to the very evening in question only the morning before."I thought you were going to be busy," she remarked, verycarefully."So I was," he exclaimed. "I couldn't help the interruption, butI made up for it afterward by working until two."This settled the discussion for the time being, but there was aresidue of opinion which was not satisfactory. There was no timeat which the claims of his wife could have been moreunsatisfactorily pushed. For years he had been steadilymodifying his matrimonial devotion, and found her company dull.Now that a new light shone upon the horizon, this older luminarypaled in the west. He was satisfied to turn his face awayentirely, and any call to look back was irksome.She, on the contrary, was not at all inclined to accept anythingless than a complete fulfilment of the letter of theirrelationship, though the spirit might be wanting."We are coming down town this afternoon," she remarked, a fewdays later. "I want you to come over to Kinsley's and meet Mr.Phillips and his wife. They're stopping at the Tremont, andwe're going to show them around a little."After the occurrence of Wednesday, he could not refuse, thoughthe Phillips were about as uninteresting as vanity and ignorancecould make them. He agreed, but it was with short grace. He wasangry when he left the house."I'll put a stop to this," he thought. "I'm not going to bebothered fooling around with visitors when I have work to do."Not long after this Mrs. Hurstwood came with a similarproposition, only it was to a matinee this time."My dear," he returned, "I haven't time. I'm too busy.""You find time to go with other people, though," she replied,with considerable irritation."Nothing of the kind," he answered. "I can't avoid businessrelations, and that's all there is to it.""Well, never mind," she exclaimed. Her lips tightened. Thefeeling of mutual antagonism was increased.On the other hand, his interest in Drouet's little shop-girl grewin an almost evenly balanced proportion. That young lady, underthe stress of her situation and the tutelage of her new friend,changed effectively. She had the aptitude of the struggler whoseeks emancipation. The glow of a more showy life was not lostupon her. She did not grow in knowledge so much as she awakenedin the matter of desire. Mrs. Hale's extended harangues upon thesubjects of wealth and position taught her to distinguish betweendegrees of wealth.Mrs. Hale loved to drive in the afternoon in the sun when it wasfine, and to satisfy her soul with a sight of those mansions andlawns which she could not afford. On the North Side had beenerected a number of elegant mansions along what is now known asthe North Shore Drive. The present lake wall of stone andgranitoid was not then in place, but the road had been well laidout, the intermediate spaces of lawn were lovely to look upon,and the houses were thoroughly new and imposing. When the winterseason had passed and the first fine days of the early springappeared, Mrs. Hale secured a buggy for an afternoon and invitedCarrie. They rode first through Lincoln Park and on far outtowards Evanston, turning back at four and arriving at the northend of the Shore Drive at about five o'clock. At this time ofyear the days are still comparatively short, and the shadows ofthe evening were beginning to settle down upon the great city.Lamps were beginning to burn with that mellow radiance whichseems almost watery and translucent to the eye. There was asoftness in the air which speaks with an infinite delicacy offeeling to the flesh as well as to the soul. Carrie felt that itwas a lovely day. She was ripened by it in spirit for manysuggestions. As they drove along the smooth pavement anoccasional carriage passed. She saw one stop and the footmandismount, opening the door for a gentleman who seemed to beleisurely returning from some afternoon pleasure. Across thebroad lawns, now first freshening into green, she saw lampsfaintly glowing upon rich interiors. Now it was but a chair, nowa table, now an ornate corner, which met her eye, but it appealedto her as almost nothing else could. Such childish fancies asshe had had of fairy palaces and kingly quarters now came back.She imagined that across these richly carved entrance-ways, wherethe globed and crystalled lamps shone upon panelled doors setwith stained and designed panes of glass, was neither care norunsatisfied desire. She was perfectly certain that here washappiness. If she could but stroll up yon broad walk, cross thatrich entrance-way, which to her was of the beauty of a jewel, andsweep in grace and luxury to possession and command--oh! howquickly would sadness flee; how, in an instant, would theheartache end. She gazed and gazed, wondering, delighting,longing, and all the while the siren voice of the unrestful waswhispering in her ear."If we could have such a home as that," said Mrs. Hale sadly,"how delightful it would be.""And yet they do say," said Carrie, "that no one is ever happy."She had heard so much of the canting philosophy of the grapelessfox."I notice," said Mrs. Hale, "that they all try mighty hard,though, to take their misery in a mansion."When she came to her own rooms, Carrie saw their comparativeinsignificance. She was not so dull but that she could perceivethey were but three small rooms in a moderately well-furnishedboarding-house. She was not contrasting it now with what she hadhad, but what she had so recently seen. The glow of the palatialdoors was still in her eye, the roll of cushioned carriages stillin her ears. What, after all, was Drouet? What was she? At herwindow, she thought it over, rocking to and fro, and gazing outacross the lamp-lit park toward the lamp-lit houses on Warren andAshland avenues. She was too wrought up to care to go down toeat, too pensive to do aught but rock and sing. Some old tunescrept to her lips, and, as she sang them, her heart sank. Shelonged and longed and longed. It was now for the old cottageroom in Columbia City, now the mansion upon the Shore Drive, nowthe fine dress of some lady, now the elegance of some scene. Shewas sad beyond measure, and yet uncertain, wishing, fancying.Finally, it seemed as if all her state was one of loneliness andforsakenness, and she could scarce refrain from trembling at thelip. She hummed and hummed as the moments went by, sitting inthe shadow by the window, and was therein as happy, though shedid not perceive it, as she ever would be.While Carrie was still in this frame of mind, the house-servantbrought up the intelligence that Mr. Hurstwood was in the parlourasking to see Mr. and Mrs. Drouet."I guess he doesn't know that Charlie is out of town," thoughtCarrie.She had seen comparatively little of the manager during thewinter, but had been kept constantly in mind of him by one thingand another, principally by the strong impression he had made.She was quite disturbed for the moment as to her appearance, butsoon satisfied herself by the aid of the mirror, and went below.Hurstwood was in his best form, as usual. He hadn't heard thatDrouet was out of town. He was but slightly affected by theintelligence, and devoted himself to the more general topicswhich would interest Carrie. It was surprising--the ease withwhich he conducted a conversation. He was like every man who hashad the advantage of practice and knows he has sympathy. He knewthat Carrie listened to him pleasurably, and, without the leasteffort, he fell into a train of observation which absorbed herfancy. He drew up his chair and modulated his voice to such adegree that what he said seemed wholly confidential. He confinedhimself almost exclusively to his observation of men andpleasures. He had been here and there, he had seen this andthat. Somehow he made Carrie wish to see similar things, and allthe while kept her aware of himself. She could not shut out theconsciousness of his individuality and presence for a moment. Hewould raise his eyes slowly in smiling emphasis of something, andshe was fixed by their magnetism. He would draw out, with theeasiest grace, her approval. Once he touched her hand foremphasis and she only smiled. He seemed to radiate an atmospherewhich suffused her being. He was never dull for a minute, andseemed to make her clever. At least, she brightened under hisinfluence until all her best side was exhibited. She felt thatshe was more clever with him than with others. At least, heseemed to find so much in her to applaud. There was not theslightest touch of patronage. Drouet was full of it.There had been something so personal, so subtle, in each meetingbetween them, both when Drouet was present and when he wasabsent, that Carrie could not speak of it without feeling a senseof difficulty. She was no talker. She could never arrange herthoughts in fluent order. It was always a matter of feeling withher, strong and deep. Each time there had been no sentence ofimportance which she could relate, and as for the glances andsensations, what woman would reveal them? Such things had neverbeen between her and Drouet. As a matter of fact, they couldnever be. She had been dominated by distress and theenthusiastic forces of relief which Drouet represented at anopportune moment when she yielded to him. Now she was persuadedby secret current feelings which Drouet had never understood.Hurstwood's glance was as effective as the spoken words of alover, and more. They called for no immediate decision, andcould not be answered.People in general attach too much importance to words. They areunder the illusion that talking effects great results. As amatter of fact, words are, as a rule, the shallowest portion ofall the argument. They but dimly represent the great surgingfeelings and desires which lie behind. When the distraction ofthe tongue is removed, the heart listens.In this conversation she heard, instead of his words, the voicesof the things which he represented. How suave was the counsel ofhis appearance! How feelingly did his superior state speak foritself! The growing desire he felt for her lay upon her spiritas a gentle hand. She did not need to tremble at all, because itwas invisible; she did not need to worry over what other peoplewould say--what she herself would say--because it had notangibility. She was being pleaded with, persuaded, led intodenying old rights and assuming new ones, and yet there were nowords to prove it. Such conversation as was indulged in held thesame relationship to the actual mental enactments of the twainthat the low music of the orchestra does to the dramatic incidentwhich it is used to cover."Have you ever seen the houses along the Lake Shore on the NorthSide?" asked Hurstwood."Why, I was just over there this afternoon--Mrs. Hale and I.Aren't they beautiful?""They're very fine," he answered."Oh, me," said Carrie, pensively. "I wish I could live in such aplace.""You're not happy," said Hurstwood, slowly, after a slight pause.He had raised his eyes solemnly and was looking into her own. Heassumed that he had struck a deep chord. Now was a slight chanceto say a word in his own behalf. He leaned over quietly andcontinued his steady gaze. He felt the critical character of theperiod. She endeavoured to stir, but it was useless. The wholestrength of a man's nature was working. He had good cause tourge him on. He looked and looked, and the longer the situationlasted the more difficult it became. The little shop-girl wasgetting into deep water. She was letting her few supports floataway from her."Oh," she said at last, "you mustn't look at me like that.""I can't help it," he answered.She relaxed a little and let the situation endure, giving himstrength."You are not satisfied with life, are you?""No," she answered, weakly.He saw he was the master of the situation--he felt it. Hereached over and touched her hand."You mustn't," she exclaimed, jumping up."I didn't intend to," he answered, easily.She did not run away, as she might have done. She did notterminate the interview, but he drifted off into a pleasant fieldof thought with the readiest grace. Not long after he rose togo, and she felt that he was in power."You mustn't feel bad," he said, kindly; "things will straightenout in the course of time."She made no answer, because she could think of nothing to say."We are good friends, aren't we?" he said, extending his hand."Yes," she answered."Not a word, then, until I see you again."He retained a hold on her hand."I can't promise," she said, doubtfully."You must be more generous than that," he said, in such a simpleway that she was touched."Let's not talk about it any more," she returned."All right," he said, brightening.He went down the steps and into his cab. Carrie closed the doorand ascended into her room. She undid her broad lace collarbefore the mirror and unfastened her pretty alligator belt whichshe had recently bought."I'm getting terrible," she said, honestly affected by a feelingof trouble and shame. "I don't seem to do anything right."She unloosed her hair after a time, and let it hang in loosebrown waves. Her mind was going over the events of the evening."I don't know," she murmured at last, "what I can do.""Well," said Hurstwood as he rode away, "she likes me all right;that I know."The aroused manager whistled merrily for a good four miles to hisoffice an old melody that he had not recalled for fifteen years.