text from which
the whole sermon of married life takes its theme. Do not let yours be
discontented and unhappy."

She put her two little hands together and pressed them appealingly.

Hurstwood gazed with slightly parted lips. Drouet was fidgeting with
satisfaction.

"To be my wife, yes," went on the actor in a manner which was weak by
comparison, but which could not now spoil the tender atmosphere which
Carrie had created and maintained. She did not seem to feel that he was
wretched. She would have done nearly as well with a block of wood. The
accessories she needed were within her own imagination. The acting of
others could not affect them.

"And you repent already?" she said, slowly.

"I lost you," he said, seizing her little hand, "and I was at the
mercy of any flirt who chose to give me an inviting look. It was your
fault--you know it was--why did you leave me?"

Carrie turned slowly away, and seemed to be mastering some impulse in
silence. Then she turned back.

"Ray," she said, "the greatest happiness I have ever felt has been the
thought that all your affection was forever bestowed upon a virtuous
woman, your equal in family, fortune, and accomplishments. What a
revelation do you make to me now! What is it makes you continually war
with your happiness?"

The last question was asked so simply that it came to the audience and
the lover as a personal thing.

At last it came to the part where the lover exclaimed, "Be to me as you
used to be."

Carrie answered, with affecting sweetness, "I cannot be that to you, but
I can speak in the spirit of the Laura who is dead to you forever."

"Be it as you will," said Patton.

Hurstwood leaned forward. The whole audience was silent and intent.

"Let the woman you look upon be wise or vain," said Carrie, her eyes
bent sadly upon the lover, who had sunk into a seat, "beautiful or
homely, rich or poor, she has but one thing she can really give or
refuse--her heart."

Drouet felt a scratch in his throat.

"Her beauty, her wit, her accomplishments, she may sell to you; but her
love is the treasure without money and without price."

The manager suffered this as a personal appeal. It came to him as if
they were alone, and he could hardly restrain the tears for sorrow
over the hopeless, pathetic, and yet dainty and appealing woman whom he
loved. Drouet also was beside himself. He was resolving that he would be
to Carrie what he had never been before. He would mar