The next day he called upon Carrie, and she saw him in her chamber. He was the same jolly, enlivening soul.
“Aw,” he said, “what are you looking so blue about? Come on out to breakfast. You want to get your other clothes to-day.”
Carrie looked at him with the hue of shifting thought in her large eyes.
“I wish I could get something to do,” she said.
“You’ll get that all right,” said Drouet. “What’s the use worrying right now? Get yourself fixed up. See the city. I won’t hurt you.”
“I know you won’t,” she remarked, half truthfully.
“Got on the new shoes, haven’t you? Stick ’em out. George, they look fine. Put on your jacket.”
Carrie obeyed.
“Say, that fits like a T, don’t it?” he remarked, feeling the set of it at the waist and eyeing it from a few paces with real pleasure. “What you need now is a new skirt. Let’s go to breakfast.”
Carrie put on her hat.