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.

She shook her head.

He sighed.

"You're a determined little miss, aren't you?" he said, after a few
moments, looking up into her eyes.

She felt a wave of feeling sweep over her at this. It was pride at
what seemed his admiration--affection for the man who could feel this
concerning her.

"No," she said coyly, "but what can I do?"

Again he folded his hands and looked away over the lawn into the street.

"I wish," he said pathetically, "you would come to me. I don't like to
be away from you this way. What good is there in waiting? You're not any
happier, are you?"

"Happier!" she exclaimed softly, "you know better than that."

"Here we are then," he went on in the same tone, "wasting our days. If
you are not happy, do you think I am? I sit and write to you the biggest
part of the time. I'll tell you what, Carrie," he exclaimed, throwing
sudden force of expression into his voice and fixing her with his eyes,
"I can't live without you, and that's all there is to it. Now," he
concluded, showing the palm of one of his white hands in a sort of
at-an-end, helpless expression, "what shall I do?"

This shifting of