In the meanwhile he was getting more forgetful of Dudley's warning every
moment. Carrie seemed to guess his feelings, and to be grateful for
them. She said very little, but she listened and she laughed, and gave
him such pretty, touching glances, such half-mournful, half-merry looks
when she thought he was not looking, that by the time they came to the
cheese he was in a state of infatuation, in which he forgot to notice
what a very long ten minutes Dudley was giving them.

He thought, as he watched Carrie in the lamplight, that he had greatly
underrated her attractions on the occasion of their first meeting. She
had been so deadly white, so pinched about the cheeks; while now there
was a little trace of pink color under the skin; and her blue eyes were
bright and sparkling with enjoyment.

And it struck him with a pang that she looked so lovely, so bewitching,
because of the change from cold and hunger which, as he knew, and as she
had acknowledged, were her usual portion.

"Shall we sit by the fire?" asked he suddenly.

And he jumped up from the table, and turned Dudley's biggest and coziest
arm-chair round toward the warmth and the glow.

Carrie hesitated. She rose slowly from her chair, and took up from the
side-table, on which Max had placed it, the shabby black cape.

"Oh, you needn't be in such a hurry," said Max. "I dare say he'll be a
great deal more than the ten minutes he said he should take."