“I didn’t know,” he replied.

He looked at her forehead, which was moist from her brisk walk.  Then he took out one of his own soft, scented silk handkerchiefs and touched her face here and there.

“Now,” he said affectionately, “you’re all right.”

They were happy in being near one another—­in looking into each other’s eyes.  Finally, when the long flush of delight had sub sided, he said: 

“When is Charlie going away again?”

“I don’t know,” she answered.  “He says he has some things to do for the house here now.”

Hurstwood grew serious, and he lapsed into quiet thought.  He looked up after a time to say: 

“Come away and leave him.”

He turned his eyes to the boys with the boats, as if the request were of little importance.

“Where would we go?” she asked in much the same manner, rolling her gloves, and looking into a neighboring tree.

“Where do you want to go?” he enquired.

There was something in the tone in which he said this which made her feel as if she must record her feelings against any local habitation.

“We can’t stay in Chicago,” she replied.

He had no thought that this was in her mind—­that any removal would be suggested.

“Why not?” he asked softly.

“Oh, because,” she said, “I wouldn’t want to.”

He listened to this with but dull perception of what it meant.  It had no serious ring to it.  The question was not up for immediate decision.

“I would have to give up my position,” he said.

The tone he used made it seem as if the matter deserved only slight consideration.  Carrie thought a little, the while enjoying the pretty scene.

“I wouldn’t like to live in Chicago and him here,” she said, thinking of Drouet.

“It’s a big town, dearest,” Hurstwood answered.  “It would be as good as moving to another part of the country to move to the South Side.”

He had fixed upon that region as an objective point.

“Anyhow,” said Carrie, “I shouldn’t want to get married as long as he is here.  I wouldn’t want to run away.”

The suggestion of marriage struck Hurstwood forcibly.  He saw clearly that this was her idea—­he felt that it was not to be gotten over easily.  Bigamy lightened the horizon of his shadowy thoughts for a moment.  He wondered for the life of him how it would all come out.  He could not see that he was making any progress save in her regard.  When he looked at her now, he thought her beautiful.  What a thing it was to have her love him, even if it be entangling!  She increased in value in his eyes because of her objection.  She was something to struggle for, and that was everything.  How different from the women who yielded willingly!  He swept the thought of them from his mind.

“And you don’t know when he’ll go away?” asked Hurstwood, quietly.