‘What sort of books are they?’

‘Crimes.’

Presently he came back with half a dozen brightly bound volumes, and tossed them into her lap.101

‘Two international gangs, three killers and a dog-track. Take your choice.’

After he had gone, she began to look through them. Discarding the dog-track, she settled down to one of the murders. She had had no idea that such books were so well printed. Two hours later, Mrs Fry found her absorbedly reading by a dead fire.

‘And he promised me he’d make it up! What a boy! Sometimes I think he’ll never give his mind to anything. But I suppose it’s natural. While he was in the Air Force he got into the way of living like a gentleman, and one doesn’t get out of such ways in a hurry.’ Still reading, Miss St John muttered that she supposed not. After an assaying glance, Mrs Fry continued, ‘And that reminds me, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Now that we’re all alone, wouldn’t it be more cheerful for you if we shared the lounge in the evenings?’

Miss St John looked up. It was as though she had heard, a long way off, a very loud noise. Mrs Fry hurried on.

‘They keep on telling us to save coal, you know. As a matter of fact, our own stocks are running low. We’ve had to give up having a fire in our own little room, as it is. We’d only look in for half an hour or so, just to warm up before bedtime.’

Supremacy disables the victorious. Miss St John had for so long imposed her will on the mild Potters that she had grown unaccustomed to dealing with any overt proposals to cross it. She could think of nothing to say beyond No. She said it. Mrs Fry deftly took it as meaning that Miss St 102John had no objection, gave a final pat to the rekindled fire, and hurried away.