“Have you ever seen the houses along the Lake Shore on the North Side?” asked Hurstwood.

“Why, I was just over there this afternoon—­Mrs. Hale and I. Aren’t they beautiful?”

“They’re very fine,” he answered.

“Oh, me,” said Carrie, pensively.  “I wish I could live in such a place.”

“You’re not happy,” said Hurstwood, slowly, after a slight pause.

He had raised his eyes solemnly and was looking into her own.  He assumed that he had struck a deep chord.  Now was a slight chance to say a word in his own behalf.  He leaned over quietly and continued his steady gaze.  He felt the critical character of the period.  She endeavored to stir, but it was useless.  The whole strength of a man’s nature was working.  He had good cause to urge him on.  He looked and looked, and the longer the situation lasted the more difficult it became.  The little shop-girl was getting into deep water.  She was letting her few supports float away from her.

“Oh,” she said at last, “you mustn’t look at me like that.”

“I can’t help it,” he answered.

She relaxed a little and let the situation endure, giving him strength.

“You are not satisfied with life, are you?”

“No,” she answered, weakly.

He saw he was the master of the situation—­he felt it.  He reached over and touched her hand.

“You mustn’t,” she exclaimed, jumping up.

“I didn’t intend to,” he answered, easily.

She did not run away, as she might have done.  She did not terminate the interview, but he drifted off into a pleasant field of thought with the readiest grace.  Not long after he rose to go, and she felt that he was in power.  “You mustn’t feel bad,” he said, kindly; “things will straighten out in the course of time.”

She made no answer, because she could think of nothing to say.

“We are good friends, aren’t we?” he said, extending his hand.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Not a word, then, until I see you again.”

He retained a hold on her hand.

“I can’t promise,” she said, doubtfully.

“You must be more generous than that,” he said, in such a simple way that she was touched.

“Let’s not talk about it any more,” she returned.

“All right,” he said, brightening.

He went down the steps and into his cab.  Carrie closed the door and ascended into her room.  She undid her broad lace collar before the mirror and unfastened her pretty alligator belt which she had recently bought.

“I’m getting terrible,” she said, honestly affected by a feeling of trouble and shame.  “I don’t seem to do anything right.”

She unloosed her hair after a time, and let it hang in loose brown waves.  Her mind was going over the events of the evening.

“I don’t know,” she murmured at last, “what I can do.”

“Well,” said Hurstwood as he rode away, “she likes me all right; that I know.”