He wrote it carefully down and got out the purse again. "You'll
be at home if I come around Monday night?" he said.

"I think so," she answered.

How true it is that words are but the vague shadows of the
volumes we mean. Little audible links, they are, chaining
together great inaudible feelings and purposes. Here were these
two, bandying little phrases, drawing purses, looking at cards,
and both unconscious of how inarticulate all their real feelings
were. Neither was wise enough to be sure of the working of the
mind of the other. He could not tell how his luring succeeded.
She could not realise that she was drifting, until he secured her
address. Now she felt that she had yielded something--he, that
he had gained a victory. Already they felt that they were
somehow associated. Already he took control in directing the
conversation. His words were easy. Her manner was relaxed.

They were nearing Chicago. Signs were everywhere numerous.
Trains flashed by them. Across wide stretches of flat, open
prairie they could see lines of telegraph poles stalking across
the fields toward the great city. Far away were indications of
suburban towns, some big smokestacks towering high in the air.

Frequently there were two-story frame houses standing out in the
open fields, without fence or trees, lone outposts of the
approaching army of homes.

To the child, the genius with imagination, or the wholly