He threw out his arm in a strong gesture; his fist was clenched..The other hand held his pipe high. “Yes, wrong! You're not a cook! You're not a nurse maid. You're a girl with a soul--with spirit--fire! What are you to that family? They've always wanted to hold you down--yes. But why? For fear you'd start talk and make them uncomfortable. Oh, I knew the feeling that has gripped you now. It's a big reaction. The tragedy of your father's death has brought your childhood back--the old tribal teachings--duty--self-sacrifice! The rush of it has swept your reason aside. But it will come back. It's got to, girl! Even if you have to take a long time working through to it. You and your father were not friends. Denying your own life won't help him. Your emotions are stirred. I know. But even if they are, for God's sake don't stop thinking! Keep your head! I tell you, you've got to go on. You can't live some one else's life--got to live your own! It's all you've gut to live--that life--your gifts--” He stopped, at the point of choking. Sue was staring now. “Henry, this is strange--sounds more like--” “Well, like whom?” “Like Zanin. That's the way he talked to me.” “Perhaps it's the way a man talks when he--” He could not control his voice and stopped. Sue kept very still; but anally, softly, rather wearily, she said: “I'm sorry, Henry! I've got to catch the ten-fifteen back.” He looked at his watch; seeing nothing. “You'll be hurrying then, Sue.” “No, there's nearly an hour.” She turned on the light, moved into the bedroom and glanced into an open bureau drawer. She drew out the one below, then thoughtful, half smiling, came to the door. “Henry---you packed everything?” “Everything, I'm sure. Though you might take a last look around.” “But--Henry, you must have packed Betty's things, too.” The color surged up over his collar. He was thinking of those soft garments and the prayers that had rustled shyly upward from his torn heart as he felt them in his hands. Wordless, he unstrapped the trunk and lifted the lid. Sue repacked the trays. She stood looking at the dancing clothes, fingering them. “Henry,” she said, “I shall never wear these again.” “That's silly, Sue.” “No. It isn't silly. I've got a job now. That's what we need, all of us--a job. You used to tell me that yourself. You were right.” She was turning the costumes over with her slim hands. “Did you find a pair of boots, Henry? Red leather with clicks in the heels? They should have been with these Russian things.” “No,” he replied, with a sudden huskiness, “I didn't see them.” “That's odd. They were right with the others.” She turned away to give rooms and closets a final scrutiny. She brought a rough parcel in from the hall, feeling it with her hands. “This yours or mine, Henry?” she asked. “I could swear it is those boots, but--” “It _is_ the boots!” he cried, like an angry man. She stared. He waved them and her roughly aside.