hes. She looked and saw before her a
man who was most gracious and sympathetic, who leaned toward her with a
feeling that was a delight to observe. She could not resist the glow
of his temperament, the light of his eye. She could hardly keep from
feeling what he felt.

And yet she was not without thoughts which were disturbing. What did
he know? What had Drouet told him? Was she a wife in his eyes, or what?
Would he marry her? Even while he talked, and she softened, and her eyes
were lighted with a tender glow, she was asking herself if Drouet
had told him they were not married. There was never anything at all
convincing about what Drouet said.

And yet she was not grieved at Hurstwood's love. No strain of bitterness
was in it for her, whatever he knew. He was evidently sincere. His
passion was real and warm. There was power in what he said. What should
she do? She went on thinking this, answering vaguely, languishing
affectionately, and altogether drifting, until she was on a borderless
sea of speculation.

"Why don't you come away?" he said, tenderly. "I will arrange for you
whatever--"

"Oh, don't," said Carrie.

"Don't what?" he asked. "What do you mean?"

There was a look of confusion and pain in her face. She was wondering
why that miserable thought must be brought in. She was struck as by
a blade with the miserable provision which was outside the pale of
marriage.

He himself realized that it was a wretched thing to have dragged in.
He wanted to weigh the effects of it, and yet he could not see. He
went beating on, flushed by her presence, clearly awakened, intensely
enlisted in his plan.

"Won't you come?" he said, beginning over and with a more reverent
feeling. "You know I can't do without you--you know it--it can't go on
this way--can it?"

"I know," said Carrie.

"I wouldn't ask if I--I wouldn't argue with you if I could help it. Look
at me, Carrie. Put yourself in my place. You don't want to stay away
from me, do you?"

She shook her head as if in deep thought. "Then why not settle the whole
thing, once and for all?"

"I don't know," said Carrie.

"Don't know! Ah, Carrie, what makes you say that? Don't torment me. Be
serious."

"I am," said Carrie, softly.

"You can't be, dearest, and say that. Not when you know how I love you.
Look at last night."

His manner as he said this was the most quiet imaginable. His face and
body retained utter composure. Only his eyes moved, and they flas