she sat listening to the chatter and comment about her. It was,
for the most part, silly and graced by the current slang.
Several of the men in the room exchanged compliments with the
girls at long range.

"Say, Kitty," called one to a girl who was doing a waltz step in
a few feet of space near one of the windows, "are you going to
the ball with me?"

"Look out, Kitty," called another, "you'll jar your back hair."

"Go on, Rubber," was her only comment.

As Carrie listened to this and much more of similar familiar
badinage among the men and girls, she instinctively withdrew into
herself. She was not used to this type, and felt that there was
something hard and low about it all. She feared that the young
boys about would address such remarks to her--boys who, beside
Drouet, seemed uncouth and ridiculous. She made the average
feminine distinction between clothes, putting worth, goodness,
and distinction in a dress suit, and leaving all the unlovely
qualities and those beneath notice in overalls and jumper.

She was glad when the short half hour was over and the wheels
began to whirr again. Though wearied, she would be
inconspicuous. This illusion ended when another young man passed
along the aisle and poked her indifferently in the ribs with his
thumb. She turned about, indignation leaping to her eyes, but he
had gone on and only once turned to grin. She found it difficult
to conquer an inclination to cry.