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　　"Well," said the foreman, scratching his ear meditatively, "we doneed a stitcher. We like experienced help, though. We've hardlygot time to break people in." He paused and looked away out ofthe window. "We might, though, put you at finishing," heconcluded reflectively.

　　"Where's the conductor?" he asked.

　　At one of the corners, where the car slowed up because of a turn,an ex-motorman, standing on the sidewalk, called to him:

　　"What are your rates?" she inquired.

　　He went in and examined his letters, but there was nothing fromCarrie. Fortunately, there was nothing from his wife either. Hethanked his stars that he did not have to confront thatproposition just now when he needed to think so much. He walkedthe floor again, pretending to be in an ordinary mood, butsecretly troubled beyond the expression of words.

　　"You mustn't," she exclaimed, jumping up.

　　In the rosy restaurant, filled with the merry lovers of latehours, she found herself criticising this man. He was toostilted, too self-opinionated. He did not talk of anything thatlifted her above the common run of clothes and material success.When it was all over, he smiled most graciously.

　　Carrie shook her head.

　　Here, then, was Carrie, established in a pleasant fashion, freeof certain difficulties which most ominously confronted her,laden with many new ones which were of a mental order, andaltogether so turned about in all of her earthly relationshipsthat she might well have been a new and different individual.She looked into her glass and saw a prettier Carrie than she hadseen before; she looked into her mind, a mirror prepared of herown and the world's opinions, and saw a worse. Between these twoimages she wavered, hesitating which to believe.