Well, he must get up and get active. He seemed to have a strange apathy toward moving. He tested his limbs cautiously, but beyond a stiffness in his joints and an inclination to lie still, he found himself not very much the worse for his exposure in the storm. Of course his muscles were lame and sore, and he felt as if every movement was an effort, but he was alive and safe, and why growl at sore muscles. He had suffered as much and more after a stiff football game in college.

He arose and stole toward the fire, holding out one foot and then the other to feel the hearty heat. He found a pitcher of hot water awaiting him on the hearth, and he turned to the old-fashioned washstand and reveled in the pleasant soap and wide lavender-scented towels. But he must hurry now, for there were still those presents. He must wrap them and label them. They wouldn’t take long, but he had to decide which things were suitable, and that might take time. Gold cigarette cases and ash trays and distinctive decks of playing cards of which he felt sure the salesman had put several into his collection of gifts, would scarcely fit this family. Would there be anything that would?

He dressed quickly in some pleasantly informal garments, sure that there would be no formality of attire in this household, and then stole to the window to see if his surmise about the storm had been correct. Yes, the windows were still shrouded with snow, and it was still coming down steadily, but not so fiercely as last night, and with almost no wind at all. A glance at the distance showed depth of whiteness in every direction, and he gave a sigh of satisfaction. It might begin to clear around noon, but for a little time at least he was snowbound, and he was glad. Nothing as pleasant as this had befallen him for a long time. He did not want to go to that house party where he was due, and he wondered why he had ever considered it. All thought of Demeter Cass and her after-midnight call had been forgotten. He was all eagerness now to find the right gifts among his collection.

So he spread them out on his bed and counted them over, unwrapped and compared them, discarding at once the articles that were incongruous and utterly impossible for his use here. He wondered why he had been willing to give such things to anybody. A gift was something that expressed oneself to a large extent, wasn’t it? And most of those things he had been intending to use for gifts at the house party were utterly foreign to himself. Well, the man had said he could return any that he did not use, and he decided that a lot of them would go back as soon as he reached the city.

So, the ash trays, vanity cases, decks of cards, and cigarette cases went into the discard pile and narrowed down the lot quite considerably. Among those that were left he had much ado to please himself. For he suddenly discovered that he would like to give something very nice indeed to everyone in the house. There were among his collection two handsome wallets with key cases to match, one in pin seal and one in hand-tooled leather. Those would do for the two men of the household. He drew a breath of satisfaction, tied them up carefully in the wrappings that had been provided by the store, and wrote the names of Lance and his father on them. But the women would be harder.

He knew which of all his gifts he would like to give to Daryl, but of course he couldn’t. She wouldn’t likely accept it if he did. It was a lovely pearl pin of exquisite workmanship, set in platinum, the pearls flawless. It was quiet and lovely, yet very distinctive.