“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 realized the floodgates 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.