Chapter XX

THE LURE OF THE SPIRIT--THE FLESH IN PURSUIT


Passion in a man of Hurstwood's nature takes a vigorous form. It
is no musing, dreamy thing. There is none of the tendency to
sing outside of my lady's window--to languish and repine in the
face of difficulties. In the night he was long getting to sleep
because of too much thinking, and in the morning he was early
awake, seizing with alacrity upon the same dear subject and
pursuing it with vigour. He was out of sorts physically, as well
as disordered mentally, for did he not delight in a new manner in
his Carrie, and was not Drouet in the way? Never was man more
harassed than he by the thoughts of his love being held by the
elated, flush-mannered drummer. He would have given anything, it
seemed to him, to have the complication ended--to have Carrie
acquiesce to an arrangement which would dispose of Drouet
effectually and forever.

What to do. He dressed thinking. He moved about in the same
chamber with his wife, unmindful of her presence.

At breakfast he found himself without an appetite. The meat to
which he helped himself remained on his plate untouched. His
coffee grew cold, while he scanned the paper indifferently. Here
and there he read a little thing, but remembered nothing.
Jessica had not yet come down. His wife sat at one end of the