walk off. That's just like a woman. I take you when you haven't
got anything, and then when some one else comes along, why I'm no
good. I always thought it'd come out that way."

He felt really hurt as he thought of his treatment, and looked as
if he saw no way of obtaining justice.

"It's not so," said Carrie, "and I'm not going with anybody else.
You have been as miserable and inconsiderate as you can be. I
hate you, I tell you, and I wouldn't live with you another
minute. You're a big, insulting"--here she hesitated and used no
word at all--"or you wouldn't talk that way."

She had secured her hat and jacket and slipped the latter on over
her little evening dress. Some wisps of wavy hair had loosened
from the bands at the side of her head and were straggling over
her hot, red cheeks. She was angry, mortified, grief-stricken.
Her large eyes were full of the anguish of tears, but her lids
were not yet wet. She was distracted and uncertain, deciding and
doing things without an aim or conclusion, and she had not the
slightest conception of how the whole difficulty would end.

"Well, that's a fine finish," said Drouet. "Pack up and pull
out, eh? You take the cake. I bet you were knocking around with
Hurstwood or you wouldn't act like that. I don't want the old
rooms. You needn't pull out for me. You can have them for all I
care, but b'George, you haven't done me right."

"I'll not live with you," said Carrie. "I don't want to live
with you. You've done nothing but brag around ever since you've