Once more the plague of poverty galled her, but now she forgot in a measure her own troubles so far as to forget Hurstwood.

He waited until four, five, and even six.

It was getting dark when he got up out of his chair.
"I guess she isn't coming home," he said, grimly.
"That's the way," he thought.

"She's getting a start now.

I'm out of it." Carrie had really discovered her neglect, but only at a quarter after five, and the open carriage was now far up Seventh Avenue, near the Harlem River.
"What time is it ?" she inquired.