She became for the moment a repentant.
While she was in this mood Drouet came in, bringing with him an entirely different atmosphere.

It was dusk and Carrie had neglected to light the lamp.

The fire in the grate, too, had burned low.
"Where are you, Cad ?" he said, using a pet name he had given her.
"Here," she answered.
There was something delicate and lonely in her voice, but he could not hear it.

He had not the poetry in him that would seek a woman out under such circumstances and console her for the tragedy of life.

Instead, he struck a match and lighted the gas.
"Hello," he exclaimed, "you've been crying." Her eyes were still wet with a few vague tears.
"Pshaw," he said, "you don't want to do that." He took her hand, feeling in his good-natured egotism that it was probably lack of his presence which had made her lonely.
"Come on, now," he went on; "it's all right.