It was not quite two days after the scene between Carrie and Hurstwoodin the Ogden Place parlour before he again put in his appearance. He hadbeen thinking almost uninterruptedly of her. Her leniency had, in a way,inflamed his regard. He felt that he must succeed with her, and thatspeedily.

The reason for his interest, not to say fascination, was deeper thanmere desire. It was a flowering out of feelings which had been witheringin dry and almost barren soil for many years. It is probable that Carrierepresented a better order of woman than had ever attracted him before.He had had no love affair since that which culminated in his marriage,and since then time and the world had taught him how raw and erroneouswas his original judgment. Whenever he thought of it, he told himselfthat, if he had it to do over again, he would never marry such a woman.At the same time, his experience with women in general had lessened hisrespect for the sex. He maintained a cynical attitude, well grounded onnumerous experiences. Such women as he had known were of nearly onetype, selfish, ignorant, flashy. The wives of his friends were notinspiring to look upon. His own wife had developed a cold, commonplacenature which to him was anything but pleasing. What he knew of thatunder-world where grovel the beast-men of society (and he knew a greatdeal) had hardened his nature. He looked upon most women withsuspicion--a single eye to the utility of beauty and dress. He followedthem with a keen, suggestive glance. At the same time, he was not sodull but that a good woman commanded his respect. Personally, he did notattempt to analyse the marvel of a saintly woman. He would take off hishat, and would silence the light-tongued and the vicious in herpresence--much as the Irish keeper of a Bowery hall will humble himselfbefore a Sister of Mercy, and pay toll to charity with a willing andreverent hand. But he would not think much upon the question of why hedid so.

A man in his situation who comes, after a long round of worthless orhardening experiences, upon a young, unsophisticated, innocent soul, isapt either to hold aloof, out of a sense of his own remoteness, or todraw near and become fascinated and elated by his discovery. It is onlyby a roundabout process that such men ever do draw near such a girl.They have no method, no understanding of how to ingratiate themselves inyouthful favour, save when they find virtue in the toils. If,unfortunately, the fly has got caught in the net, the spider can comeforth and talk business upon its own terms. So when maidenhood haswandered into the moil of the city, when it is brought within the circleof the "rounder" and the roué, even though it be at the outermost rim,they can come forth and use their alluring arts.

Hurstwood had gone, at Drouet's invitation, to meet a new baggage offine clothes and pretty features. He entered, expecting to indulge in anevening of lightsome frolic, and then lose track of the newcomerforever. Instead he found a woman whose youth and beauty attracted him.In the mild light of Carrie's eye was nothing of the calculation of themistress. In the diffident manner was nothing of the art of thecourtesan. He saw at once that a mistake had been made, that somedifficult conditions had pushed this troubled creature into hispresence, and his interest was enlisted. Here sympathy sprang to therescue, but it was not unmixed with selfishness. He wanted to win Carriebecause he thought her fate mingled with his was better than if it wereunited with Drouet's. He envied the drummer his conquest as he had neverenvied any man in all the course of his experience.

Carrie was certainly better than this man, as she was superior,mentally, to Drouet. She came fresh from the air of the village, thelight of the country still in her eye. Here was neither guile norrapacity. There were slight inherited traits of both in her, but theywere rudimentary. She was too full of wonder and desire to be greedy.She still looked about her upon the great maze of the city withoutunderstanding. Hurstwood felt the bloom and the youth. He picked her ashe would the fresh fruit of a tree. He felt as fresh in her presence asone who is taken out of the flash of summer to the first cool breath ofspring.

Carrie, left alone since the scene in question, and having no one withwhom to counsel, had at first wandered from one strange mentalconclusion to another, until at last, tired out, she gave it up. Sheowed something to Drouet, she thought. It did not seem more thanyesterday that he had aided her when she was worried and distressed. Shehad the kindliest feelings for him in every way. She gave him credit forhis good looks, his generous feelings, and even, in fact, failed torecollect his egotism when he was absent; but she could not feel anybinding influence keeping her for him as against all others. In fact,such a thought had never had any grounding, even in Drouet's desires.

The truth is, that this goodly drummer carried the doom of all enduringrelationships in his own lightsome manner and unstable fancy. He wentmerrily on, assured that he was alluring all, that affection followedtenderly in his wake, that things would endure unchangingly for hispleasure. When he missed some old face, or found some door finally shutto him, it did not grieve him deeply. He was too young, too successful.He would remain thus young in spirit until he was dead.

As for Hurstwood, he was alive with thoughts and feelings concerningCarrie. He had no definite plans regarding her, but he was determined tomake her confess an affection for him. He thought he saw in her droopingeye, her unstable glance, her wavering manner, the symptoms of a buddingpassion. He wanted to stand near her and make her lay her hand inhis--he wanted to find out what her next step would be--what the nextsign of feeling for him would be. Such anxiety and enthusiasm had notaffected him for years. He was a youth again in feeling--a cavalier inaction.

In his position opportunity for taking his evenings out was excellent.He was a most faithful worker in general, and a man who commanded theconfidence of his employers in so far as the distribution of his timewas concerned. He could take such hours off as he chose, for it was wellknown that he fulfilled his managerial duties successfully, whatevertime he might take. His grace, tact, and ornate appearance gave theplace an air which was most essential, while at the same time his longexperience made him a most excellent judge of its stock necessities.Bartenders and assistants might come and go, singly or in groups, but,so long as he was present, the host of old-time customers would barelynotice the change. He gave the place the atmosphere to which they wereused. Consequently, he arranged his hours very much to suit himself,taking now an afternoon, now an evening, but invariably returningbetween eleven and twelve to witness the last hour or two of the day'sbusiness and look after the closing details.

"You see that things are safe and all the employees are out when you gohome, George," Moy had once remarked to him, and he never once, in allthe period of his long service, neglected to do this. Neither of theowners had for years been in the resort after five in the afternoon, andyet their manager as faithfully fulfilled this request as if they hadbeen there regularly to observe.

On this Friday afternoon, scarcely two days after his previous visit, hemade up his mind to see Carrie. He could not stay away longer.

"Evans," he said, addressing the head barkeeper, "if any one calls, Iwill be back between four and five."

He hurried to Madison Street and boarded a horse-car, which carried himto Ogden Place in half an hour.

Carrie had thought of going for a walk, and had put on a light greywoollen dress with a jaunty double-breasted jacket. She had out her hatand gloves, and was fastening a white lace tie about her throat when thehouse-maid brought up the information that Mr. Hurstwood wished to seeher.

She started slightly at the announcement, but told the girl to say thatshe would come down in a moment, and proceeded to hasten her dressing.

Carrie could not have told herself at this moment whether she was glador sorry that the impressive manager was awaiting her presence. She wasslightly flurried and tingling in the cheeks, but it was morenervousness than either fear or favour. She did not try to conjecturewhat the drift of the conversation would be. She only felt that she mustbe careful, and that Hurstwood had an indefinable fascination for her.Then she gave her tie its last touch with her fingers and went below.

The deep-feeling manager was himself a little strained in the nerves bythe thorough consciousness of his mission. He felt that he must make astrong play on this occasion, but now that the hour was come, and heheard Carrie's feet upon the stair, his nerve failed him. He sank alittle in determination, for he was not so sure, after all, what heropinion might be.

When she entered the room, however, her appearance gave him courage. Shelooked simple and charming enough to strengthen the daring of any lover.Her apparent nervousness dispelled his own.

"How are you?" he said, easily. "I could not resist the temptation tocome out this afternoon, it was so pleasant."

"Yes," said Carrie, halting before him, "I was just preparing to go fora walk myself."

"Oh, were you?" he said. "Supposing, then, you get your hat and we bothgo?"

They crossed the park and went west along Washington Boulevard,beautiful with its broad macadamised road, and large frame houses setback from the sidewalks. It was a street where many of the moreprosperous residents of the West Side lived, and Hurstwood could nothelp feeling nervous over the publicity of it. They had gone but a fewblocks when a livery stable sign in one of the side streets solved thedifficulty for him. He would take her to drive along the new Boulevard.

The Boulevard at that time was little more than a country road. The parthe intended showing her was much farther out on this same West Side,where there was scarcely a house. It connected Douglas Park withWashington or South Park, and was nothing more than a neatly made road,running due south for some five miles over an open, grassy prairie, andthen due east over the same kind of prairie for the same distance. Therewas not a house to be encountered anywhere along the larger part of theroute, and any conversation would be pleasantly free of interruption.

At the stable he picked a gentle horse, and they were soon out of rangeof either public observation or hearing.

"Can you drive?" he said, after a time.

"I never tried," said Carrie.

He put the reins in her hand, and folded his arms.

"You see there's nothing to it much," he said, smilingly.

"Not when you have a gentle horse," said Carrie.

"You can handle a horse as well as any one, after a little practice," headded, encouragingly.

He had been looking for some time for a break in the conversation whenhe could give it a serious turn. Once or twice he had held his peace,hoping that in silence her thoughts would take the colour of his own,but she had lightly continued the subject. Presently, however, hissilence controlled the situation. The drift of his thoughts began totell. He gazed fixedly at nothing in particular, as if he were thinkingof something which concerned her not at all. His thoughts, however,spoke for themselves. She was very much aware that a climax was pending.

"Do you know," he said, "I have spent the happiest evenings in yearssince I have known you?"

"Have you?" she said, with assumed airiness, but still excited by theconviction which the tone of his voice carried.

"I was going to tell you the other evening," he added, "but somehow theopportunity slipped away."

Carrie was listening without attempting to reply. She could think ofnothing worth while to say. Despite all the ideas concerning right whichhad troubled her vaguely since she had last seen him, she was nowinfluenced again strongly in his favour.

"I came out here to-day," he went on, solemnly, "to tell you just how Ifeel--to see if you wouldn't listen to me."

Hurstwood was something of a romanticist after his kind. He was capableof strong feelings--often poetic ones--and under a stress of desire,such as the present, he waxed eloquent. That is, his feelings and hisvoice were coloured with that seeming repression and pathos which is theessence of eloquence.

"You know," he said, putting his hand on her arm, and keeping a strangesilence while he formulated words, "that I love you?"

Carrie did not stir at the words. She was bound up completely in theman's atmosphere. He would have church-like silence in order to expresshis feelings, and she kept it. She did not move her eyes from the flat,open scene before her. Hurstwood waited for a few moments, and thenrepeated the words.

"You must not say that," she said, weakly.

Her words were not convincing at all. They were the result of a feeblethought that something ought to be said. He paid no attention to themwhatever.

"Carrie," he said, using her first name with sympathetic familiarity, "Iwant you to love me. You don't know how much I need some one to waste alittle affection on me. I am practically alone. There is nothing in mylife that is pleasant or delightful. It's all work and worry with peoplewho are nothing to me."

As he said this, Hurstwood really imagined that his state was pitiful.He had the ability to get off at a distance and view himselfobjectively--of seeing what he wanted to see in the things which made uphis existence. Now, as he spoke, his voice trembled with that peculiarvibration which is the result of tensity. It went ringing home to hiscompanion's heart.

"Why, I should think," she said, turning upon him large eyes which werefull of sympathy and feeling, "that you would be very happy. You know somuch of the world."

"That is it," he said, his voice dropping to a soft minor, "I know toomuch of the world."

It was an important thing to her to hear one so well-positioned andpowerful speaking in this manner. She could not help feeling thestrangeness of her situation. How was it that, in so little a while, thenarrow life of the country had fallen from her as a garment, and thecity, with all its mystery, taken its place? Here was this greatestmystery, the man of money and affairs sitting beside her, appealing toher. Behold, he had ease and comfort, his strength was great, hisposition high, his clothing rich, and yet he was appealing to her. Shecould formulate no thought which would be just and right. She troubledherself no more upon the matter. She only basked in the warmth of hisfeeling, which was as a grateful blaze to one who is cold. Hurstwoodglowed with his own intensity, and the heat of his passion was alreadymelting the wax of his companion's scruples.

"You think," he said, "I am happy; that I ought not to complain? If youwere to meet all day with people who care absolutely nothing about you,if you went day after day to a place where there was nothing but showand indifference, if there was not one person in all those you knew towhom you could appeal for sympathy or talk to with pleasure, perhaps youwould be unhappy too."

He was striking a chord now which found sympathetic response in her ownsituation. She knew what it was to meet with people who wereindifferent, to walk alone amid so many who cared absolutely nothingabout you. Had not she? Was not she at this very moment quite alone?Who was there among all whom she knew to whom she could appeal forsympathy? Not one. She was left to herself to brood and wonder.

"I could be content," went on Hurstwood, "if I had you to love me. If Ihad you to go to; you for a companion. As it is, I simply move aboutfrom place to place without any satisfaction. Time hangs heavily on myhands. Before you came I did nothing but idle and drift into anythingthat offered itself. Since you came--well, I've had you to think about."

The old illusion that here was some one who needed her aid began to growin Carrie's mind. She truly pitied this sad, lonely figure. To thinkthat all his fine state should be so barren for want of her; that heneeded to make such an appeal when she herself was lonely and withoutanchor. Surely, this was too bad.

"I am not very bad," he said, apologetically, as if he owed it to her toexplain on this score. "You think, probably, that I roam around, and getinto all sorts of evil? I have been rather reckless, but I could easilycome out of that. I need you to draw me back, if my life ever amounts toanything."

Carrie looked at him with the tenderness which virtue ever feels in itshope of reclaiming vice. How could such a man need reclaiming? Hiserrors, what were they, that she could correct? Small they must be,where all was so fine. At worst, they were gilded affairs, and with whatleniency are gilded errors viewed.

He put himself in such a lonely light that she was deeply moved.

"Is it that way?" she mused.

He slipped his arm about her waist, and she could not find the heart todraw away. With his free hand he seized upon her fingers. A breath ofsoft spring wind went bounding over the road, rolling some brown twigsof the previous autumn before it. The horse paced leisurely on,unguided.

"Tell me," he said, softly, "that you love me."

Her eyes fell consciously.

"Own to it, dear," he said, feelingly; "you do, don't you?"

She made no answer, but he felt his victory.

"Tell me," he said, richly, drawing her so close that their lips werenear together. He pressed her hand warmly, and then released it to touchher cheek.

"You do?" he said, pressing his lips to her own.

For answer, her lips replied.

"Now," he said, joyously, his fine eyes ablaze, "you're my own girl,aren't you?"

By way of further conclusion, her head lay softly upon his shoulder.