He looked at her with a dawning intention in his eyes. Before he could speak the words that were on his lips the opposite door opened, and a young woman, wearing an artist's blouse, with close-cropped dark hair and a frank boyish face, came out.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Gray, do you happen to have any methylated spirit?"
"Good-night, Miss Gray."
He lifted his hat and went down the stairs. On the next landing he paused and listened with a smile to the conversation overhead. It appeared that Mary had only enough methylated spirit for a single occasion.
"Then you must come to breakfast with me in the morning," said the other girl. "Can you oblige me with a few slices of bacon?"
It was the true communistic life.
He was smiling to himself still as he walked up the hill homewards. "Winter is over and past, and the spring is come," he murmured to himself. And to think that a few hours ago the fog was creeping over the City!