"I wish you would not go out so late, Carrie; it really isn't——"
But Carrie had slammed the door without even waiting for her parent's last words. She soon reached the Terrace, which was within three minutes' walk of her own house. Florrie Raynes let her in.
"My dear Carrie," she said, "what do you want? Oh, you naughty girl; you knew Sam would be in."
"Well, I want to speak to him. Can I see him just for a moment?" gasped Carrie, panting and breathless, pushing the hair from her forehead as she spoke.
"Yes, come right in," said Florrie; "you need not apologize. He is only having a cigar, and he'll be right pleased to see you."
As she spoke she opened the door of a small sitting-room and pushed Carrie in, slamming it behind her. The echo of her rude laughter as she performed this unladylike feat was heard down the passage.
Sam was seated in front of an open window smoking a cigar. When he saw Carrie he removed it from his mouth and came forward in a somewhat nonchalant way to meet her.
"Now, Car," he said, "what's up? Any news? Can we have a jolly time next
Sunday?"
"Yes," answered Carrie panting slightly, "and for as many other Sundays as you like. See here, Sam, I cannot wait a minute now. You know you once told me that I was a frivolous little thing, that I was extravagant, and all that. Now, what will you say if I ask you to put seven pounds in the bank for me?"
"Seven pounds!" cried Sam; "'pon my word! Where in the world did you get it, Car?"