“It is a gift,” he said aloud; and then sat on the springs of the stripped bed and stared at his ineffectual face in the mirror. “The trouble with me,” he continued, “is plain lack of character. Better Hy's trifling conquests; better Zanin's driving instinct to get first; better Peter's hideously ungoverned ego; than--nothing!”
His pipe usually helped. He felt for it. It was not in the right-hand coat pocket where he always carried it. Which fact startled him. Then he found it in the left-hand pocket. Not once in ten years before this bitter hour had he misplaced his pipe. “My God,” he muttered, “haven't I even got any _habits!_” He was unnerved. “Like Pete,” he thought, “but without even Pete's excuse.”
He lighted his pipe, puffed a moment, stood erect, drew a few deep breaths, then drove himself at the task of packing the things that were in the bureau. And a task it was! Nothing but the strong if latent will of the man held him to it. There were soft white garments the like of which his hands had never touched before. Reverently, if grimly, he laid them away in the upper trays of the trunk. In the bottom drawer were Sue's dancing costumes--Russian and Greek. Each one of these brought a vivid picture of the girl as she had appeared at the Crossroads; each was a stab at Henry Bates' heart. At the bottom, in the corner, were a pair of red leather boots, very light, with metal clicks in the heels. He took them up, stood motionless holding them. His eyes filled. He could see her again, in that difficult crouching Russian step--her costume sparkling with color, her olive skin tinted rose with the spirited exercise of it, her extraordinary green eyes dancing with the exuberant life that was in her. Then, as if by a trick shift of scene, he saw her in a bare kitchen, wearing a checked apron, kneeling by a stove. The tears brimmed over. He lifted the little red boots, stared wildly at them, kissed them over and over.
“My God!” he moaned softly, “oh, my God!”
There was a faint smell of burning. His pipe lay at his feet, sparks had fallen out and were eating their way into the matting. He stepped on them; then picked up the pipe and resolutely lighted it again. The boots he carried into the living-room; found an old newspaper and wrapped them up; laid the parcel by his hat and coat in the hall.