Dan lifted his head. “Boardman, if you ever give me away!”
“Oh, I don't suppose it's very hilarious,” said Boardman, with vague kindness. “Packed yet?” he asked, getting away from the subject as something he did not feel himself fitted to deal with consecutively.
“I'm only going to take a bag,” said Mavering, going to get some clothes down from a closet where his words had a sepulchral reverberation.
“Can't I help?” asked Boardman, keeping away from the sad memorials of Dan's love strewn about on the desk, and yet not able to keep his eyes off them across the room.
“Well, I don't know,” said Dan. He came out with his armful of coats and trousers, and threw them on the bed. “Are you going?”
“If I could believe you wanted me to.”
“Good!” cried Mavering, and the fact seemed to brighten him immediately. “If you want to, stuff these things in, while I'm doing up these other things.” He nodded his head side-wise toward the desk.
“All right,” said Boardman.
His burst of grief must have relieved Dan greatly. He set about gathering up the relics on the desk, and getting a suitable piece of paper to wrap them in. He rejected several pieces as inappropriate.
“I don't know what kind of paper to do these things up in,” he said at last.