Carrie spoke sharply. She had grown warm in defense of her felonious
friend.

Max thought a little before he answered.

"But you're not this man's wife or his daughter."

"Well, no. But he wanted to marry me; and if he hadn't been caught
yesterday, perhaps I should have let him."

"What?"

"Don't look so disgusted. He would have been kind to me."

"And _do_ you think you couldn't find a better husband than a--than
a pickpocket?"

"He would have been honest if I'd married him," said Carrie, quietly.

"He _says_ so, of course; but he wouldn't. A man says anything to
get the girl he's fond of to promise to marry him. Do you think it's
possible to change the habits of years, of all a man's life, perhaps,
like that?"

"I know it would have been possible," persisted she, obstinately. "I
know I could have worried him, and nagged at him, and worked for him,
till I made him do what I wanted."

And Max saw in her face, as she looked solemnly at the fire, that
dogged, steady resolution of the blue-eyed races.