latter was more fascinated, if anything, than Hurstwood. At
least, in the nature of things, it took a more ruddy form.

"Well, well," said Drouet, "you did out of sight. That was
simply great. I knew you could do it. Oh, but you're a little
daisy!"

Carrie's eyes flamed with the light of achievement.

"Did I do all right?"

"Did you? Well, I guess. Didn't you hear the applause?"

There was some faint sound of clapping yet.

"I thought I got it something like--I felt it."

Just then Hurstwood came in. Instinctively he felt the change in
Drouet. He saw that the drummer was near to Carrie, and jealousy
leaped alight in his bosom. In a flash of thought, he reproached
himself for having sent him back. Also, he hated him as an
intruder. He could scarcely pull himself down to the level where
he would have to congratulate Carrie as a friend. Nevertheless,
the man mastered himself, and it was a triumph. He almost jerked
the old subtle light to his eyes.

"I thought," he said, looking at Carrie, "I would come around and
tell you how well you did, Mrs. Drouet. It was delightful."

Carrie took the cue, and replied: