d dreamed a new dream of pleasure which concerned his present fixed
condition not at all. He got back in fancy to the old Hurstwood, who was
neither married nor fixed in a solid position for life. He remembered
the light spirit in which he once looked after the girls--how he had
danced, escorted them home, hung over their gates. He almost wished he
was back there again--here in this pleasant scene he felt as if he were
wholly free.

At two Carrie came tripping along the walk toward him, rosy and clean.
She had just recently donned a sailor hat for the season with a band of
pretty white-dotted blue silk. Her skirt was of a rich blue material,
and her shirt waist matched it, with a thin-stripe of blue upon a
snow-white ground--stripes that were as fine as hairs. Her brown shoes
peeped occasionally from beneath her skirt. She carried her gloves in
her hand.

Hurstwood looked up at her with delight.

"You came, dearest," he said eagerly, standing to meet her and taking
her hand.

"Of course," she said, smiling; "did you think I wouldn't?"

"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 neighbouring 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