upstairs or she might be downstairs--he could not tell; but the
cans proved that she was immanent and regardful; indeed, she never
forgot anything. And George's second state at No. 8 was physically even
better than his first. In the transition through autumn from summer to
winter--a transition which, according to the experience of tens of
thousands of London lodgers, is capable of turning comparative comfort
into absolute discomfort--Mrs. Haim had behaved with benevolence and
ingenuity. For example, the bedroom fire, laid overnight, was now
burning up well from the mere touch of the lodger's own match. Such
things are apt to count, and they counted with George.

As for Mr. Haim, George knew that he was still in bed, because, since
his marriage, Mr. Haim had made a practice of staying in bed on Sunday
mornings. The scheme was his wife's; she regarded it as his duty to
himself to exercise this grand male privilege of staying in bed; to do
so gave him majesty, magnificence, and was a sign of authority. A copy
of _The Referee_, fresh as fruit new-dropped from the bough, lay in the
hall at the front door. Mr. Haim had read _The Referee_ since _The
Referee_ was. He began his perusal with the feature known as "Mustard
and Cress," which not only amused him greatly, but convinced him that
his own ideas on affairs were really very sagacious. His chief and most
serious admiration, however was kept for "Our Hand-Book." "It's my
Bible," he had once remarked, "and I'm not ashamed to say it. And there
are scores and scores of men who'd say the same." Church bells could not
be heard at No. 8. _The Referee_ lying in the hall was the gracious sign
of Sabbath morning. Presently Mrs. Haim would carry it upstairs,
respectfully. For her it was simply and unanalysably _The Referee_. She
did not dream of looking into it. Mr. Haim did not expect her to look
into it. Her mission was to solace and to charm, his alone to supply the
intellectual basis upon which their existence reposed. George's nose
caught the ascending beautiful odour of bacon; he picked up his cans and
disappeared.

When he was dressed, he brought forward the grindstone to the fire, and
conscientiously put his nose to it, without even lighting a cigarette.
It had been agreed between himself and Marguerite that there should be
no more cigarettes until after lunch. It had also been agreed that he
should put his nose to the grindstone that Sunday morning, and that she
should do th