The magnet attracting a waif amid forces

Particularly she remembered one beautiful actress—the sweetheart who had 
been wooed and won. The grace of this woman had won Carrie's heart. Her 
dresses had been all that art could suggest, her sufferings had been so real. 
The anguish which she had portrayed Carrie could feel. It was done as she 
was sure she could do it. There were places in which she could even do 
better. Hence she repeated the lines to herself. Oh, if she could only have 
such a part, how broad would be her life! She, too, could act appealingly. 
When Hurstwood came, Carrie was moody. She was sitting, rocking and 
thinking, and did not care to have her enticing imaginations broken in upon; 
so she said little or nothing. 
"What's the matter, Carrie?" said Hurstwood after a time, noticing her quiet, 
almost moody state. 
"Nothing," said Carrie. "I don't feel very well to-night." 
"Not sick, are you?" he asked, approaching very close. 
"Oh, no," she said, almost pettishly, "I just don't feel very good." 
"That's too bad," he said, stepping away and adjusting his vest after his 
slight bending over. "I was thinking we might go to a show to-night." 

---

"I don't want to go," said Carrie, annoyed that her fine visions should have 
thus been broken into and driven out of her mind. "I've been to the matinée 
this afternoon." 
"Oh, you have?" said Hurstwood. "What was it?" 
"A Gold Mine." 
"How was it?" 
"Pretty good," said Carrie. 
"And you don't want to go again to-night?" 
"I don't think I do," she said. 
Nevertheless, wakened out of her melancholia and called to the dinner table, 
she changed her mind. A little food in the stomach does wonders. She went 
again, and in so doing temporarily recovered her equanimity. The great 
awakening blow had, however, been delivered. As often as she might recover 
from these discontented thoughts now, they would occur again. Time and 
repetition—ah, the wonder of it! The dropping water and the solid stone—
how utterly it yields at last! 
Not long after this matinée experience—perhaps a month—Mrs. Vance 
invited Carrie to an evening at the theatre with them. She heard Carrie say 
that Hurstwood was not coming home to dinner. 
"Why don't you come with us? Don't get dinner for yourself. We're going 
down to Sherry's for dinner and then over to the Lyceum. Come along with 
us." 
"I think I will," answered Carrie. 
She began to dress at three o'clock for her departure at half-past five for the 
noted dining-room which was then crowding Delmonico's for position in 
society. In this dressing Carrie showed the influence of her association with 
the dashing Mrs. Vance. She had constantly had her attention called by the 
latter to novelties in everything which pertains to a woman's apparel. 
"Are you going to get such and such a hat?" or, "Have you seen the new 
gloves with the oval pearl buttons?" were but sample phrases out of a large 
selection. 
"The next time you get a pair of shoes, dearie," said Mrs. Vance, "get button, 
with thick soles and patent-leather tips. They're all the rage this fall." 
"I will," said Carrie. 
"Oh, dear, have you seen the new shirtwaists at Altman's? They have some 
of the loveliest patterns. I saw one there that I know would look stunning on 
you. I said so when I saw it." 

---

Carrie listened to these things with considerable interest, for they were 
suggested with more of friendliness than is usually common between pretty 
women. Mrs. Vance liked Carrie's stable good-nature so well that she really 
took pleasure in suggesting to her the latest things. 
"Why don't you get yourself one of those nice serge skirts they're selling at 
Lord & Taylor's?" she said one day. "They're the circular style, and they're 
going to be worn from now on. A dark blue one would look so nice on you." 
Carrie listened with eager ears. These things never came up between her 
and Hurstwood. Nevertheless, she began to suggest one thing and another, 
which Hurstwood agreed to without any expression of opinion. He noticed 
the new tendency on Carrie's part, and finally, hearing much of Mrs. Vance 
and her delightful ways, suspected whence the change came. He was not 
inclined to offer the slightest objection so soon, but he felt that Carrie's 
wants were expanding. This did not appeal to him exactly, but he cared for 
her in his own way, and so the thing stood. Still, there was something in the 
details of the transactions which caused Carrie to feel that her requests 
were not a delight to him. He did not enthuse over the purchases. This led 
her to believe that neglect was creeping in, and so another small wedge was 
entered. 
Nevertheless, one of the results of Mrs. Vance's suggestions was the fact 
that on this occasion Carrie was dressed somewhat to her own satisfaction. 
She had on her best, but there was comfort in the thought that if she must 
confine herself to a best, it was neat and fitting. She looked the well-
groomed woman of twenty-one, and Mrs. Vance praised her, which brought 
colour to her plump cheeks and a noticeable brightness into her large eyes. 
It was threatening rain, and Mr. Vance, at his wife's request, had called a 
coach. 
"Your husband isn't coming?" suggested Mr. Vance, as he met Carrie in his 
little parlour. 
"No; he said he wouldn't be home for dinner." 
"Better leave a little note for him, telling him where we are. He might turn 
up." 
"I will," said Carrie, who had not thought of it before. 
"Tell him we'll be at Sherry's until eight o'clock. He knows, though, I guess." 
Carrie crossed the hall with rustling skirts, and scrawled the note, gloves 
on. When she returned a newcomer was in the Vance flat. 
"Mrs. Wheeler, let me introduce Mr. Ames, a cousin of mine," said Mrs. 
Vance. "He's going along with us, aren't you, Bob?" 
"I'm very glad to meet you," said Ames, bowing politely to Carrie. 

---

The latter caught in a glance the dimensions of a very stalwart figure. She 
also noticed that he was smooth-shaven, good looking, and young, but 
nothing more. 
"Mr. Ames is just down in New York for a few days," put in Vance, "and we're 
trying to show him around a little." 
"Oh, are you?" said Carrie, taking another glance at the newcomer. 
"Yes; I am just on here from Indianapolis for a week or so," said young 
Ames, seating himself on the edge of a chair to wait while Mrs. Vance 
completed the last touches of her toilet. 
"I guess you find New York quite a thing to see, don't you?" said Carrie, 
venturing something to avoid a possible deadly silence. 
"It is rather large to get around in a week," answered Ames, pleasantly. 
He was an exceedingly genial soul, this young man, and wholly free of 
affectation. It seemed to Carrie he was as yet only overcoming the last traces 
of the bashfulness of youth. He did not seem apt at conversation, but he had 
the merit of being well dressed and wholly courageous. Carrie felt as if it 
were not going to be hard to talk to him. 
"Well, I guess we're ready now. The coach is outside." 
"Come on, people," said Mrs. Vance, coming in smiling. "Bob, you'll have to 
look after Mrs. Wheeler." 
"I'll try to," said Bob smiling, and edging closer to Carrie. "You won't need 
much watching, will you?" he volunteered, in a sort of ingratiating and help-
me-out kind of way. 
"Not very, I hope," said Carrie. 
They descended the stairs, Mrs. Vance offering suggestions, and climbed 
into the open coach. 
"All right," said Vance, slamming the coach door, and the conveyance rolled 
away. 
"What is it we're going to see?" asked Ames. 
"Sothern," said Vance, "in 'Lord Chumley.'" 
"Oh, he is so good!" said Mrs. Vance. "He's just the funniest man." 
"I notice the papers praise it," said Ames. 
"I haven't any doubt," put in Vance, "but we'll all enjoy it very much." 
Ames had taken a seat beside Carrie, and accordingly he felt it his bounden 
duty to pay her some attention. He was interested to find her so young a 
wife, and so pretty, though it was only a respectful interest. There was 

---

nothing of the dashing lady's man about him. He had respect for the 
married state, and thought only of some pretty marriageable girls in 
Indianapolis. 
"Are you a born New Yorker?" asked Ames of Carrie. 
"Oh, no; I've only been here for two years." 
"Oh, well, you've had time to see a great deal of it, anyhow." 
"I don't seem to have," answered Carrie. "It's about as strange to me as when 
I first came here." 
"You're not from the West, are you?" 
"Yes. I'm from Wisconsin," she answered. 
"Well, it does seem as if most people in this town haven't been here so very 
long. I hear of lots of Indiana people in my line who are here." 
"What is your line?" asked Carrie. 
"I'm connected with an electrical company," said the youth. 
Carrie followed up this desultory conversation with occasional interruptions 
from the Vances. Several times it became general and partially humorous, 
and in that manner the restaurant was reached. 
Carrie had noticed the appearance of gayety and pleasure-seeking in the 
streets which they were following. Coaches were numerous, pedestrians 
many, and in Fifty-ninth Street the street cars were crowded. At Fifty-ninth 
Street and Fifth Avenue a blaze of lights from several new hotels which 
bordered the Plaza Square gave a suggestion of sumptuous hotel life. Fifth 
Avenue, the home of the wealthy, was noticeably crowded with carriages, 
and gentlemen in evening dress. At Sherry's an imposing doorman opened 
the coach door and helped them out. Young Ames held Carrie's elbow as he 
helped her up the steps. They entered the lobby already swarming with 
patrons, and then, after divesting themselves of their wraps, went into a 
sumptuous dining-room. 
In all Carrie's experience she had never seen anything like this. In the whole 
time she had been in New York Hurstwood's modified state had not 
permitted his bringing her to such a place. There was an almost 
indescribable atmosphere about it which convinced the newcomer that this 
was the proper thing. Here was the place where the matter of expense 
limited the patrons to the moneyed or pleasure-loving class. Carrie had read 
of it often in the "Morning" and "Evening World." She had seen notices of 
dances, parties, balls, and suppers at Sherry's. The Misses So-and-so would 
give a party on Wednesday evening at Sherry's. Young Mr. So-and-so would 
entertain a party of friends at a private luncheon on the sixteenth, at 

---

Sherry's. The common run of conventional, perfunctory notices of the doings 
of society, which she could scarcely refrain from scanning each day, had 
given her a distinct idea of the gorgeousness and luxury of this wonderful 
temple of gastronomy. Now, at last, she was really in it. She had come up 
the imposing steps, guarded by the large and portly doorman. She had seen 
the lobby, guarded by another large and portly gentleman, and been waited 
upon by uniformed youths who took care of canes, overcoats, and the like. 
Here was the splendid dining-chamber, all decorated and aglow, where the 
wealthy ate. Ah, how fortunate was Mrs. Vance; young, beautiful, and well 
off—at least, sufficiently so to come here in a coach. What a wonderful thing 
it was to be rich. 
Vance led the way through lanes of shining tables, at which were seated