Chapter XXIII

by Theodore Dreiser

　　A SPIRIT IN TRAVAIL--ONE RUNG PUT BEHINDWhen Carrie reached her own room she had already fallen a prey tothose doubts and misgivings which are ever the result of a lackof decision. She could not persuade herself as to theadvisability of her promise, or that now, having given her word,she ought to keep it. She went over the whole ground inHurstwood's absence, and discovered little objections that hadnot occurred to her in the warmth of the manager's argument. Shesaw where she had put herself in a peculiar light, namely, thatof agreeing to marry when she was already supposedly married.She remembered a few things Drouet had done, and now that it cameto walking away from him without a word, she felt as if she weredoing wrong. Now, she was comfortably situated, and to one whois more or less afraid of the world, this is an urgent matter,and one which puts up strange, uncanny arguments. "You do notknow what will come. There are miserable things outside. Peoplego a-begging. Women are wretched. You never can tell what willhappen. Remember the time you were hungry. Stick to what youhave."Curiously, for all her leaning towards Hurstwood, he had nottaken a firm hold on her understanding. She was listening,smiling, approving, and yet not finally agreeing. This was dueto a lack of power on his part, a lack of that majesty of passionthat sweeps the mind from its seat, fuses and melts all argumentsand theories into a tangled mass, and destroys for the time beingthe reasoning power. This majesty of passion is possessed bynearly every man once in his life, but it is usually an attributeof youth and conduces to the first successful mating.Hurstwood, being an older man, could scarcely be said to retainthe fire of youth, though he did possess a passion warm andunreasoning. It was strong enough to induce the leaning towardhim which, on Carrie's part, we have seen. She might have beensaid to be imagining herself in love, when she was not. Womenfrequently do this. It flows from the fact that in each exists abias toward affection, a craving for the pleasure of being loved.The longing to be shielded, bettered, sympathised with, is one ofthe attributes of the sex. This, coupled with sentiment and anatural tendency to emotion, often makes refusing difficult. Itpersuades them that they are in love.Once at home, she changed her clothes and straightened the roomsfor herself. In the matter of the arrangement of the furnitureshe never took the housemaid's opinion. That young womaninvariably put one of the rocking-chairs in the corner, andCarrie as regularly moved it out. To-day she hardly noticed thatit was in the wrong place, so absorbed was she in her ownthoughts. She worked about the room until Drouet put inappearance at five o'clock. The drummer was flushed and excitedand full of determination to know all about her relations withHurstwood. Nevertheless, after going over the subject in hismind the livelong day, he was rather weary of it and wished itover with. He did not foresee serious consequences of any sort,and yet he rather hesitated to begin. Carrie was sitting by thewindow when he came in, rocking and looking out."Well," she said innocently, weary of her own mental discussionand wondering at his haste and ill-concealed excitement, "whatmakes you hurry so?"Drouet hesitated, now that he was in her presence, uncertain asto what course to pursue. He was no diplomat. He could neitherread nor see."When did you get home?" he asked foolishly."Oh, an hour or so ago. What makes you ask that?""You weren't here," he said, "when I came back this morning, andI thought you had gone out.""So I did," said Carrie simply. "I went for a walk."Drouet looked at her wonderingly. For all his lack of dignity insuch matters he did not know how to begin. He stared at her inthe most flagrant manner until at last she said:"What makes you stare at me so? What's the matter?""Nothing," he answered. "I was just thinking.""Just thinking what?" she returned smilingly, puzzled by hisattitude."Oh, nothing--nothing much.""Well, then, what makes you look so?"Drouet was standing by the dresser, gazing at her in a comicmanner. He had laid off his hat and gloves and was now fidgetingwith the little toilet pieces which were nearest him. Hehesitated to believe that the pretty woman before him wasinvolved in anything so unsatisfactory to himself. He was verymuch inclined to feel that it was all right, after all. Yet theknowledge imparted to him by the chambermaid was rankling in hismind. He wanted to plunge in with a straight remark of somesort, but he knew not what."Where did you go this morning?" he finally asked weakly."Why, I went for a walk," said Carrie."Sure you did?" he asked."Yes, what makes you ask?"She was beginning to see now that he knew something. Instantlyshe drew herself into a more reserved position. Her cheeksblanched slightly."I thought maybe you didn't," he said, beating about the bush inthe most useless manner.Carrie gazed at him, and as she did so her ebbing courage halted.She saw that he himself was hesitating, and with a woman'sintuition realised that there was no occasion for great alarm."What makes you talk like that?" she asked, wrinkling her prettyforehead. "You act so funny to-night.""I feel funny," he answered.They looked at one another for a moment, and then Drouet plungeddesperately into his subject."What's this about you and Hurstwood?" he asked."Me and Hurstwood--what do you mean?""Didn't he come here a dozen times while I was away?""A dozen times," repeated Carrie, guiltily. "No, but what do youmean?""Somebody said that you went out riding with him and that he camehere every night.""No such thing," answered Carrie. "It isn't true. Who told youthat?"She was flushing scarlet to the roots of her hair, but Drouet didnot catch the full hue of her face, owing to the modified lightof the room. He was regaining much confidence as Carrie defendedherself with denials."Well, some one," he said. "You're sure you didn't?""Certainly," said Carrie. "You know how often he came."Drouet paused for a moment and thought."I know what you told me," he said finally.He moved nervously about, while Carrie looked at him confusedly."Well, I know that I didn't tell you any such thing as that,"said Carrie, recovering herself."If I were you," went on Drouet, ignoring her last remark, "Iwouldn't have anything to do with him. He's a married man, youknow.""Who--who is?" said Carrie, stumbling at the word."Why, Hurstwood," said Drouet, noting the effect and feeling thathe was delivering a telling blow."Hurstwood!" exclaimed Carrie, rising. Her face had changedseveral shades since this announcement was made. She lookedwithin and without herself in a half-dazed way."Who told you this?" she asked, forgetting that her interest wasout of order and exceedingly incriminating."Why, I know it. I've always known it," said Drouet.Carrie was feeling about for a right thought. She was making amost miserable showing, and yet feelings were generating withinher which were anything but crumbling cowardice."I thought I told you," he added."No, you didn't," she contradicted, suddenly recovering hervoice. "You didn't do anything of the kind."Drouet listened to her in astonishment. This was something new."I thought I did," he said.Carrie looked around her very solemnly, and then went over to thewindow."You oughtn't to have had anything to do with him," said Drouetin an injured tone, "after all I've done for you.""You," said Carrie, "you! What have you done for me?"Her little brain had been surging with contradictory feelings--shame at exposure, shame at Hurstwood's perfidy, anger atDrouet's deception, the mockery he had made at her. Now oneclear idea came into her head. He was at fault. There was nodoubt about it. Why did he bring Hurstwood out--Hurstwood, amarried man, and never say a word to her? Never mind now aboutHurstwood's perfidy--why had he done this? Why hadn't he warnedher? There he stood now, guilty of this miserable breach ofconfidence and talking about what he had done for her!"Well, I like that," exclaimed Drouet, little realising the firehis remark had generated. "I think I've done a good deal.""You have, eh?" she answered. "You've deceived me--that's whatyou've done. You've brought your old friends out here underfalse pretences. You've made me out to be--Oh," and with thisher voice broke and she pressed her two little hands togethertragically."I don't see what that's got to do with it," said the drummerquaintly."No," she answered, recovering herself and shutting her teeth."No, of course you don't see. There isn't anything you see. Youcouldn't have told me in the first place, could you? You had tomake me out wrong until it was too late. Now you come sneakingaround with your information and your talk about what you havedone."Drouet had never suspected this side of Carrie's nature. She wasalive with feeling, her eyes snapping, her lips quivering, herwhole body sensible of the injury she felt, and partaking of herwrath."Who's sneaking?" he asked, mildly conscious of error on hispart, but certain that he was wronged."You are," stamped Carrie. "You're a horrid, conceited coward,that's what you are. If you had any sense of manhood in you, youwouldn't have thought of doing any such thing."The drummer stared."I'm not a coward," he said. "What do you mean by going withother men, anyway?""Other men!" exclaimed Carrie. "Other men--you know better thanthat. I did go with Mr. Hurstwood, but whose fault was it?Didn't you bring him here? You told him yourself that he shouldcome out here and take me out. Now, after it's all over, youcome and tell me that I oughtn't to go with him and that he's amarried man."She paused at the sound of the last two words and wrung herhands. The knowledge of Hurstwood's perfidy wounded her like aknife."Oh," she sobbed, repressing herself wonderfully and keeping hereyes dry. "Oh, oh!""Well, I didn't think you'd be running around with him when I wasaway," insisted Drouet."Didn't think!" said Carrie, now angered to the core by the man'speculiar attitude. "Of course not. You thought only of whatwould be to your satisfaction. You thought you'd make a toy ofme--a plaything. Well, I'll show you that you won't. I'll havenothing more to do with you at all. You can take your old thingsand keep them," and unfastening a little pin he had given her,she flung it vigorously upon the floor and began to move about asif to gather up the things which belonged to her.By this Drouet was not only irritated but fascinated the more.He looked at her in amazement, and finally said:"I don't see where your wrath comes in. I've got the right ofthis thing. You oughtn't to have done anything that wasn't rightafter all I did for you.""What have you done for me?" asked Carrie blazing, her headthrown back and her lips parted."I think I've done a good deal," said the drummer, lookingaround. "I've given you all the clothes you wanted, haven't I?I've taken you everywhere you wanted to go. You've had as muchas I've had, and more too."Carrie was not ungrateful, whatever else might be said of her.In so far as her mind could construe, she acknowledged benefitsreceived. She hardly knew how to answer this, and yet her wrathwas not placated. She felt that the drummer had injured herirreparably."Did I ask you to?" she returned."Well, I did it," said Drouet, "and you took it.""You talk as though I had persuaded you," answered Carrie. "Youstand there and throw up what you've done. I don't want your oldthings. I'll not have them. You take them to-night and do whatyou please with them. I'll not stay here another minute.""That's nice!" he answered, becoming angered now at the sense ofhis own approaching loss. "Use everything and abuse me and thenwalk off. That's just like a woman. I take you when you haven'tgot anything, and then when some one else comes along, why I'm nogood. I always thought it'd come out that way."He felt really hurt as he thought of his treatment, and looked asif he saw no way of obtaining justice."It's not so," said Carrie, "and I'm not going with anybody else.You have been as miserable and inconsiderate as you can be. Ihate you, I tell you, and I wouldn't live with you anotherminute. You're a big, insulting"--here she hesitated and used noword at all--"or you wouldn't talk that way."She had secured her hat and jacket and slipped the latter on overher little evening dress. Some wisps of wavy hair had loosenedfrom the bands at the side of her head and were straggling overher hot, red cheeks. She was angry, mortified, grief-stricken.Her large eyes were full of the anguish of tears, but her lidswere not yet wet. She was distracted and uncertain, deciding anddoing things without an aim or conclusion, and she had not theslightest conception of how the whole difficulty would end."Well, that's a fine finish," said Drouet. "Pack up and pullout, eh? You take the cake. I bet you were knocking around withHurstwood or you wouldn't act like that. I don't want the oldrooms. You needn't pull out for me. You can have them for all Icare, but b'George, you haven't done me right.""I'll not live with you," said Carrie. "I don't want to livewith you. You've done nothing but brag around ever since you'vebeen here.""Aw, I haven't anything of the kind," he answered.Carrie walked over to the door."Where are you going?" he said, stepping over and heading heroff."Let me out," she said."Where are you going?" he repeated.He was, above all, sympathetic, and the sight of Carrie wanderingout, he knew not where, affected him, despite his grievance.Carrie merely pulled at the door.The strain of the situation was too much for her, however. Shemade one more vain effort and then burst into tears."Now, be reasonable, Cad," said Drouet gently. "What do you wantto rush out for this way? You haven't any place to go. Why notstay here now and be quiet? I'll not bother you. I don't want tostay here any longer."Carrie had gone sobbing from the door to the window. She was soovercome she could not speak."Be reasonable now," he said. "I don't want to hold you. Youcan go if you want to, but why don't you think it over? Lordknows, I don't want to stop you."He received no answer. Carrie was quieting, however, under theinfluence of his plea."You stay here now, and I'll go," he added at last.Carrie listened to this with mingled feelings. Her mind wasshaken loose from the little mooring of logic that it had. Shewas stirred by this thought, angered by that--her own injustice,Hurstwood's, Drouet's, their respective qualities of kindness andfavour, the threat of the world outside, in which she had failedonce before, the impossibility of this state inside, where thechambers were no longer justly hers, the effect of the argumentupon her nerves, all combined to make her a mass of janglingfibres--an anchorless, storm-beaten little craft which could doabsolutely nothing but drift."Say," said Drouet, coming over to her after a few moments, witha new idea, and putting his hand upon her."Don't!" said Carrie, drawing away, but not removing herhandkerchief from her eyes."Never mind about this quarrel now. Let it go. You stay hereuntil the month's out, anyhow, and then you can tell better whatyou want to do. Eh?"Carrie made no answer."You'd better do that," he said. "There's no use your packing upnow. You can't go anywhere."Still he got nothing for his words."If you'll do that, we'll call it off for the present and I'llget out."Carrie lowered her handkerchief slightly and looked out of thewindow."Will you do that?" he asked.Still no answer."Will you?" he repeated.She only looked vaguely into the street."Aw! come on," he said, "tell me. Will you?""I don't know," said Carrie softly, forced to answer."Promise me you'll do that," he said, "and we'll quit talkingabout it. It'll be the best thing for you."Carrie heard him, but she could not bring herself to answerreasonably. She felt that the man was gentle, and that hisinterest in her had not abated, and it made her suffer a pang ofregret. She was in a most helpless plight.As for Drouet, his attitude had been that of the jealous lover.Now his feelings were a mixture of anger at deception, sorrow atlosing Carrie, misery at being defeated. He wanted his rights insome way or other, and yet his rights included the retaining ofCarrie, the making her feel her error."Will you?" he urged."Well, I'll see," said Carrie.This left the matter as open as before, but it was something. Itlooked as if the quarrel would blow over, if they could only getsome way of talking to one another. Carrie was ashamed, andDrouet aggrieved. He pretended to take up the task of packingsome things in a valise.Now, as Carrie watched him out of the corner of her eye, certainsound thoughts came into her head. He had erred, true, but whathad she done? He was kindly and good-natured for all his egotism.Throughout this argument he had said nothing very harsh. On theother hand, there was Hurstwood--a greater deceiver than he. Hehad pretended all this affection, all this passion, and he waslying to her all the while. Oh, the perfidy of men! And she hadloved him. There could be nothing more in that quarter. Shewould see Hurstwood no more. She would write him and let himknow what she thought. Thereupon what would she do? Here werethese rooms. Here was Drouet, pleading for her to remain.Evidently things could go on here somewhat as before, if all werearranged. It would be better than the street, without a place tolay her head.All this she thought of as Drouet rummaged the drawers forcollars and laboured long and painstakingly at finding a shirt-stud. He was in no hurry to rush this matter. He felt anattraction to Carrie which would not down. He could not thinkthat the thing would end by his walking out of the room. Theremust be some way round, some way to make her own up that he wasright and she was wrong--to patch up a peace and shut outHurstwood for ever. Mercy, how he turned at the man's shamelessduplicity."Do you think," he said, after a few moments' silence, "thatyou'll try and get on the stage?"He was wondering what she was intending."I don't know what I'll do yet," said Carrie."If you do, maybe I can help you. I've got a lot of friends inthat line."She made no answer to this."Don't go and try to knock around now without any money. Let mehelp you," he said. "It's no easy thing to go on your own hookhere."Carrie only rocked back and forth in her chair."I don't want you to go up against a hard game that way."He bestirred himself about some other details and Carrie rockedon."Why don't you tell me all about this thing," he said, after atime, "and let's call it off? You don't really care forHurstwood, do you?""Why do you want to start on that again?" said Carrie. "You wereto blame.""No, I wasn't," he answered."Yes, you were, too," said Carrie. "You shouldn't have ever toldme such a story as that.""But you didn't have much to do with him, did you?" went onDrouet, anxious for his own peace of mind to get some directdenial from her."I won't talk about it," said Carrie, pained at the quizzicalturn the peace arrangement had taken."What's the use of acting like that now, Cad?" insisted thedrummer, stopping in his work and putting up a hand expressively."You might let me know where I stand, at least.""I won't," said Carrie, feeling no refuge but in anger."Whatever has happened is your own fault.""Then you do care for him?" said Drouet, stopping completely andexperiencing a rush of feeling."Oh, stop!" said Carrie."Well, I'll not be made a fool of," exclaimed Drouet. "You maytrifle around with him if you want to, but you can't lead me.You can tell me or not, just as you want to, but I won't fool anylonger!"He shoved the last few remaining things he had laid out into hisvalise and snapped it with a vengeance. Then he grabbed hiscoat, which he had laid off to work, picked up his gloves, andstarted out."You can go to the deuce as far as I am concerned," he said, ashe reached the door. "I'm no sucker," and with that he opened itwith a jerk and closed it equally vigorously.Carrie listened at her window view, more astonished than anythingelse at this sudden rise of passion in the drummer. She couldhardly believe her senses--so good-natured and tractable had heinvariably been. It was not for her to see the wellspring ofhuman passion. A real flame of love is a subtle thing. It burnsas a will-o'-the-wisp, dancing onward to fairylands of delight.It roars as a furnace. Too often jealousy is the quality uponwhich it feeds.