There were several pauses in the hemorrhage, and at each pause Mr. Bouncing’s mind came back to him as clear as glass. He spoke at intervals.
“Not Rivers,” he said, fixing Winn’s eyes, “Roper — Roper.” Then he leaned back on the strong shoulder supporting him. “Glad to go,” he murmured. “Life has been — a damned nuisance. I’ve had — enough of it.” Then again, between broken, flying breaths he whispered, “Lonely.”
“That’s all right,” Winn said gently.
“You’re not alone now. I’ve got hold of you.”
“No,” whispered Mr. Bouncing, “no, I don’t think you have.”
There was no more violence now; his failing breath shook him hardly at all. Even as he spoke, something in him was suddenly freed; his chest rose slowly, his arm lifted then fell back, and Winn saw that he was no longer holding Mr. Bouncing.
CHAPTER XVIII
He closed the balcony door; the cold air filled the room as if it were still trying to come to the rescue of Mr. Bouncing. Winn had often done the last offices for the dead before, but always out of doors. Mr. Bouncing would have thought that a very careless way to die; he had often told Winn that he thought nature most unpleasant.
When Winn had set the room in order he sat down by the table and wondered if it would be wrong to smoke a cigarette. He wanted to smoke, but he came to the conclusion that it wasn’t quite the thing.
To-night was the ball for the international skaters — he ought to have been there, of course. He had made Lionel go in his place, and had written a stiff little note to Claire, asking her to give his dances to his friend. He had Claire’s answer in his pocket. “Of course I will, but I’m awfully disappointed.” She had spelled disappointed with two s’s and one p. Win had crushed the note into his pocket and not looked at it since, but he took it out now. It wasn’t like smoking a cigarette. Bouncing wouldn’t mind. There was no use making a fuss about it; he had done the best thing for her. He was handing all that immaculate, fresh youth into a keeping worthy of it. He wasn’t fit himself. There were too many things he couldn’t tell her, there was too much in him still that might upset and shock her. He would have done his best, of course, to have taken care of her; but better men could take better care. Lionel had said nothing so far; he had taken Claire skiing and skating, and once down the Schatz Alp. When he had come back from the Schatz Alp he had gone a long walk by himself. Winn had offered to accompany him, but Lionel had said he wanted to go alone and think. Winn accepted this decision without question. He knew Lionel was a clever man, but he didn’t himself see anything to think about. The thing was perfectly simple: Lionel liked Claire or he didn’t; no amount of being clever could make any difference. Winn was a little suspicious of thinking. It seemed to him rather like a way of getting out of things.