"Oh, I've got some," said Lola."I've got twenty-five dollars, if you need it."
"No," said Carrie."I guess I'll get along."
They decided to move Friday, which was two days away.Now that the thing was settled, Carrie's heart misgave her.She felt very much like a criminal in the matter.Each day looking at Hurstwood, she had realised that, along with the disagreeableness of his attitude, there was something pathetic.
She looked at him the same evening she had made up her mind to go, and now he seemed not so shiftless and worthless, but run down and beaten upon by chance.His eyes were not keen, his face marked, his hands flabby.She thought his hair had a touch of grey.All unconscious of his doom, he rocked and read his paper, while she glanced at him.
Knowing that the end was so near, she became rather solicitous.
"Will you go over and get some canned peaches?" she asked Hurstwood, laying down a two-dollar bill.
"Certainly," he said, looking in wonder at the money.
"See if you can get some nice asparagus," she added."I'll cook it for dinner."
Hurstwood rose and took the money, slipping on his overcoat and getting his hat.Carrie noticed that both of these articles of apparel were old and poor looking in appearance.It was plain enough before, but now it came home with peculiar force.Perhaps he couldn't help it, after all.He had done well in Chicago.
She remembered his fine appearance the days he had met her in the park.Then he was so sprightly, so clean.Had it been all his fault?
He came back and laid the change down with the food.
"You'd better keep it," she observed."We'll need other things."
"No," he said, with a sort of pride; "you keep it."
"Oh, go on and keep it," she replied, rather unnerved."There'll be other things."
He wondered at this, not knowing the pathetic figure he had become in her eyes.She restrained herself with difficulty from showing a quaver in her voice.
To say truly, this would have been Carrie's attitude in any case.