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He
took
out
a
neat
business
card
,
on
which
was
engraved
Bartlett
,
Caryoe
&
Company
,
and
down
in
the
left
-
hand
corner
,
Chas
.
H
.
Drouet
.
“
That
’
s
me
,
”
he
said
,
putting
the
card
in
her
hand
and
touching
his
name
.
“
It
’
s
pronounced
Drew
-
eh
.
Our
family
was
French
,
on
my
father
’
s
side
.
”
She
looked
at
it
while
he
put
up
his
purse
.
Then
he
got
out
a
letter
from
a
bunch
in
his
coat
pocket
.
“
This
is
the
house
I
travel
for
,
”
he
went
on
,
pointing
to
a
picture
on
it
,
“
corner
of
State
and
Lake
.
”
There
was
pride
in
his
voice
.
He
felt
that
it
was
something
to
be
connected
with
such
a
place
,
and
he
made
her
feel
that
way
.
“
What
is
your
address
?
”
he
began
again
,
fixing
his
pencil
to
write
.
She
looked
at
his
hand
.
“
Carrie
Meeber
,
”
she
said
slowly
.
“
Three
hundred
and
fifty
-
four
West
Van
Buren
Street
,
care
S
.
C
.
Hanson
.
”
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
.
