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.
