The next day her trunks left for the new abode.

Dressing, after the matinee on Wednesday, a knock came at her dressing-room door.

Carrie looked at the card handed by the boy and suffered a shock of surprise.

“Tell her I’ll be right out,” she said softly.  Then, looking at the card, added:  “Mrs. Vance.”

“Why, you little sinner,” the latter exclaimed, as she saw Carrie coming toward her across the now vacant stage.  “How in the world did this happen?”

Carrie laughed merrily.  There was no trace of embarrassment in her friend’s manner.  You would have thought that the long separation had come about accidentally.

“I don’t know,” returned Carrie, warming, in spite of her first troubled feelings, toward this handsome, good-natured young matron.

“Well, you know, I saw your picture in the Sunday paper, but your name threw me off.  I thought it must be you or somebody that looked just like you, and I said:  ‘Well, now, I will go right down there and see.’  I was never more surprised in my life.  How are you, anyway?”

“Oh, very well,” returned Carrie.  “How have you been?”

“Fine.  But aren’t you a success!  Dear, oh!  All the papers talking about you.  I should think you would be just too proud to breathe.  I was almost afraid to come back here this afternoon.”

“Oh, nonsense,” said Carrie, blushing.  “You know I’d be glad to see you.”

“Well, anyhow, here you are.  Can’t you come up and take dinner with me now?  Where are you stopping?”

“At the Wellington,” said Carrie, who permitted herself a touch of pride in the acknowledgment.

“Oh, are you?” exclaimed the other, upon whom the name was not without its proper effect.

Tactfully, Mrs. Vance avoided the subject of Hurstwood, of whom she could not help thinking.  No doubt Carrie had left him.  That much she surmised.

“Oh, I don’t think I can,” said Carrie, “to-night.  I have so little time.  I must be back here by 7.30.  Won’t you come and dine with me?”

“I’d be delighted, but I can’t to-night,” said Mrs. Vance studying Carrie’s fine appearance.  The latter’s good fortune made her seem more than ever worthy and delightful in the others eyes.  “I promised faithfully to be home at six.”  Glancing at the small gold watch pinned to her bosom, she added:  “I must be going, too.  Tell me when you’re coming up, if at all.”

“Why, any time you like,” said Carrie.

“Well, to-morrow then.  I’m living at the Chelsea now.”

“Moved again?” exclaimed Carrie, laughing.

“Yes.  You know I can’t stay six months in one place.  I just have to move.  Remember now—­half-past five.”

“I won’t forget,” said Carrie, casting a glance at her as she went away.  Then it came to her that she was as good as this woman now—­ perhaps better.  Something in the other’s solicitude and interest made her feel as if she were the one to condescend.