Drouet looked her over and saw something different.
"Well," he said, "I want to talk to you. You're not going anywhere in particular, are you?"
"Not just now," said Carrie.
"Let's go up here and have something to eat. George! but I'm glad to see you again."
She felt so relieved in his radiant presence, so much looked after and cared for, that she assented gladly, though with the slightest air of holding back.
"Well," he said, as he took her arm—and there was an exuberance of good-fellowship in the word which fairly warmed the cockles of her heart.
They went through Monroe Street to the old Windsor dining-room, which was then a large, comfortable place, with an excellent cuisine and substantial service. Drouet selected a table close by the window, where the busy rout of the street could be seen. He loved the changing panorama of the street—to see and be seen as he dined.
"Now," he said, getting Carrie and himself comfortably settled, "what will you have?"
Carrie looked over the large bill of fare which the waiter handed her without really considering it. She was very hungry, and the things she saw there awakened her desires, but the high prices held her attention.
"Half broiled spring chicken—seventy-five. Sirloin steak with mushrooms—one twenty-five." She had dimly heard of these things, but it seemed strange to be called to order from the list.
"I'll fix this," exclaimed Drouet. "Sst! waiter."
That officer of the board, a full-chested, round-faced negro, approached, and inclined his ear.
"Sirloin with mushrooms," said Drouet. "Stuffed tomatoes."
"Yassah," assented the negro, nodding his head.
"Hashed brown potatoes."
