George, having had breakfast in bed, opened his door for the second time that morning, and duly found on the mat the can of hot water (covered with a bit of old blanket) and the can of cold water which comprised the material for his bath. There was no sound in the house. The new spouse¹ might be 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 physically² 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 lodgers³, is capable of turning comparative comfort into absolute discomfort—Mrs. Haim had behaved with benevolence⁴ and ingenuity⁵. For example, the bedroom fire, laid overnight, was now burning up well from the mere⁶ touch of the lodger's own match. Such things are apt to count, and they counted with George.