id Carrie, stumbling at the word.

"Why, Hurstwood," said Drouet, noting the effect and feeling that he was
delivering a telling blow.

"Hurstwood!" exclaimed Carrie, rising. Her face had changed several
shades since this announcement was made. She looked within and without
herself in a half-dazed way.

"Who told you this?" she asked, forgetting that her interest was out 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 a most
miserable showing, and yet feelings were generating within her which
were anything but crumbling cowardice.

"I thought I told you," he added.

"No, you didn't," she contradicted, suddenly recovering her voice. "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 the
window.

"You oughtn't to have had anything to do with him," said Drouet in 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 at Drouet's deception, the
mockery he had made at her. Now one clear idea came into her head. He
was at fault. There was no doubt about it. Why did he bring Hurstwood
out--Hurstwood, a married man, and never say a word to her? Never mind
now about Hurstwood's perfidy--why had he done this? Why hadn't he
warned her? There he stood now, guilty of this miserable breach of
confidence and talking about what he had done for her!

"Well, I like that," exclaimed Drouet, little realising the fire his
remark had generated. "I think I've done a good deal."

"You have, eh?" she answered. "You've deceived me--that's what you've
done. You've brought your old friends out here under false pretences.
You've made me out to be--Oh," and with this her voice broke and she
pressed her two little hands together tragically.

"I don't see what that's got to do with it," said the drummer quaintly.

"No," she answered, recovering herself and shutting her teeth. "No, of
course you don't see. There isn't anything you see. You couldn't have
told me in the first place, could you? You had to make me out
wrong until it was too late. Now you come sneaking around with your
information and your talk about what you