On Sunday evening Carrie dined with him at a place he had selected in East Adams Street, and thereafter they took a cab to what was then a pleasant evening resort out on Cottage Grove Avenue near 39th Street.  In the process of his declaration he soon realized that Carrie took his love upon a higher basis than he had anticipated.  She kept him at a distance in a rather earnest way, and submitted only to those tender tokens of affection which better become the inexperienced lover.  Hurstwood saw that she was not to be possessed for the asking, and deferred pressing his suit too warmly.

Since he feigned to believe in her married state he found that he had to carry out the part.  His triumph, he saw, was still at a little distance.  How far he could not guess.

They were returning to Ogden Place in the cab, when he asked: 

“When will I see you again?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, wondering herself.

“Why not come down to The Fair,” he suggested, “next Tuesday?”

She shook her head.

“Not so soon,” she answered.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he added.  “I’ll write you, care of this West Side Post-office.  Could you call next Tuesday?”

Carrie assented.

The cab stopped one door out of the way according to his call.

“Good-night,” he whispered, as the cab rolled away.

Unfortunately for the smooth progression of this affair, Drouet returned.  Hurstwood was sitting in his imposing little office the next afternoon when he saw Drouet enter.

“Why, hello, Charles,” he called affably; “back again?”

“Yes,” smiled Drouet, approaching and looking in at the door.

Hurstwood arose.

“Well,” he said, looking the drummer over, “rosy as ever, eh?”

They began talking of the people they knew and things that had happened.

“Been home yet?” finally asked Hurstwood.

“No, I am going, though,” said Drouet.

“I remembered the little girl out there,” said Hurstwood, “and called once.  Thought you wouldn’t want her left quite alone.”

“Right you are,” agreed Drouet.  “How is she?”

“Very well,” said Hurstwood.  “Rather anxious about you though.  You’d better go out now and cheer her up.”

“I will,” said Drouet, smilingly.

“Like to have you both come down and go to the show with me Wednesday,” concluded Hurstwood at parting.

“Thanks, old man,” said his friend, “I’ll see what the girl says and let you know.”

They separated in the most cordial manner.

“There’s a nice fellow,” Drouet thought to himself as he turned the corner towards Madison.

“Drouet is a good fellow,” Hurstwood thought to himself as he went back into his office, “but he’s no man for Carrie.”

The thought of the latter turned his mind into a most pleasant vein, and he wandered how he would get ahead of the drummer.