Harleston, having gained his apartment, leisurely removed from his
pockets the handkerchief, the roses, and the envelope, and placed them
on the library table. With the same leisureliness, he removed his light
top-coat and his hat and hung them in the closet. Returning to the
library, he chose a cigarette, tapped it on the back of his hand, struck
a match, and carefully passed the flame across the tip. After several
puffs, taken with conscious deliberation, he sat down and took up the
handkerchief.
This was Harleston's way: to delay deliberately the gratification of his
curiosity, so as to keep it always under control. An important
letter--where haste was not an essential--was unopened for a while; his
morning newspaper he would let lie untouched beside his plate for
sufficiently long to check his natural inclination to glance hastily
over the headlines of the first page. In everything he tried by
self-imposed curbs to teach himself poise and patience and a quiet mind.
He had been at it for years. By now he had himself well in hand; though,
being exceedingly impetuous by nature, he occasionally broke over.
His course in this instance was typical--the more so, indeed, since he
had broken over and lost his poise only that afternoon.
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