"Those were such nice flowers you sent me," she said, after a
moment or two. "They were beautiful."

"Glad you liked them," he answered, simply.

He was thinking all the time that the subject of his desire was
being delayed. He was anxious to turn the talk to his own
feelings. All was ripe for it. His Carrie was beside him. He
wanted to plunge in and expostulate with her, and yet he found
himself fishing for words and feeling for a way.

"You got home all right," he said, gloomily, of a sudden, his
tune modifying itself to one of self-commiseration.

"Yes," said Carrie, easily.

He looked at her steadily for a moment, slowing his pace and
fixing her with his eye.

She felt the flood of feeling.

"How about me?" he asked.

This confused Carrie considerably, for she realised the flood-
gates were open. She didn't know exactly what to answer.
"I don't know," she answered.

He took his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, and then
let it go. He stopped by the walk side and kicked the grass with
his toe. He searched her face with a tender, appealing glance.