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Carrie was dwelling in the
atmosphere which this man created for her.
Already she was enlivened and suffused with a glow.
She felt his drawing toward her in every sound of his voice.
"Those were such nice
flowers you sent me," she said, after a moment or two. "They were beautiful."
"Glad you liked them,"
he answered, simply.
He was thinking all the time that
the subject of his desire was being delayed.
He was anxious to turn the talk to his own feelings.
All was ripe for it. His
Carrie was beside him. He
wanted to plunge in and expostulate with her, and yet he found himself
fishing for words and feeling for a way.
"You got home all
right," he said, gloomily, of a sudden, his tune modifying itself to
one of self-commiseration.
"Yes," said Carrie,
easily.
He looked at her steadily for a
moment, slowing his pace and fixing her with his eye.
She felt the flood of feeling.
"How about me?" he
asked.
This confused Carrie
considerably, for she realised the flood- gates were open.
She didn't know exactly what to answer. "I don't know," she
answered.
He took his lower lip between his
teeth for a moment, and then let it go.
He stopped by the walk side and kicked the grass with his toe.
He searched her face with a tender, appealing glance.
"Won't you come away from
him?" he asked, intensely.
"I don't know,"
returned Carrie, still illogically drifting and finding nothing at which to
catch.
As a matter of fact, she was in a
most hopeless quandary. Here
was a man whom she thoroughly liked, who exercised an influence over her,
sufficient almost to delude her into the belief that she was possessed of a
lively passion for him. She was
still the victim of his keen eyes, his suave manners, his fine clothes. 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 flashed a subtle, dissolving fire. In them the whole intensity of the man's nature was
distilling itself.
Carrie made no answer.
"How can you act this way,
dearest?" he inquired, after a time. "You love me, don't
you?"
He turned on her such a storm of
feeling that she was overwhelmed. For
the moment all doubts were cleared away.
"Yes," she answered,
frankly and tenderly.
"Well, then you'll come,
won't you--come to-night?"
Carrie shook her head in spite of
her distress.
"I can't wait any
longer," urged Hurstwood. "If
that is too soon, come Saturday."
"When will we be
married?" she asked, diffidently, forgetting in her difficult situation
that she had hoped he took her to be Drouet's wife.
The manager started, hit as he
was by a problem which was more difficult than hers.
He gave no sign of the thoughts that flashed like messages to his
mind.
"Any time you say," he
said, with ease, refusing to discolour his present delight with this
miserable problem.
"Saturday?" asked
Carrie.
He nodded his head.
"Well, if you will marry me
then," she said, "I'll go."
The manager looked at his lovely
prize, so beautiful, so winsome, so difficult to be won, and made strange
resolutions. His passion had
gotten to that stage now where it was no longer coloured with reason.
He did not trouble over little barriers of this sort in the face of
so much loveliness. He would
accept the situation with all its difficulties; he would not try to answer
the objections which cold truth thrust upon him.
He would promise anything, everything, and trust to fortune to
disentangle him. He would make
a try for Paradise, whatever might be the result.
He would be happy, by the Lord, if it cost all honesty of statement,
all abandonment of truth.
Carrie looked at him tenderly.
She could have laid her head upon his shoulder, so delightful did it
all seem. "Well," she said, "I'll try and get ready
then."
Hurstwood looked into her pretty
face, crossed with little shadows of wonder and misgiving, and thought he
had never seen anything more lovely.
"I'll see you again
to-morrow," he said, joyously, "and we'll talk over the
plans."
He walked on with her, elated
beyond words, so delightful had been the result.
He impressed a long story of joy and affection upon her, though there
was but here and there a word. After
a half-hour he began to realise that the meeting must come to an end, so
exacting is the world.
"To-morrow," he said at
parting, a gayety of manner adding wonderfully to his brave demeanour.
"Yes," said Carrie,
tripping elatedly away.
There had been so much enthusiasm
engendered that she was believing herself deeply in love.
She sighed as she thought of her handsome adorer.
Yes, she would get ready by Saturday.
She would go, and they would be happy.
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