356 ANGEL PAVEMENT

think of washing them long before Miss Golspie
appeared again. What he did, when she did appear,
was to wash himself in a bathroom that had more towels
and bottles and jars and tins in it than all the other half-
dozen bathrooms he had ever seen put together. And
now they were ready for the pictures.

It was not far, but they had to grope their way through
a mist that was rapidly turning into a thick fog, and once
or twice Lena put her hand on his arm, and they were
cosy together in the blank woolly night, and it was all
rather wonderful It was better still when they were sit-
ting, close, cosier than ever, in the scented and deep rose-
shaded dimness of the balcony in the picture theatre.
(Turgis had paid for these best seats, and was left with
exactly three-and-threepence to take him through the rest
of the week.) They were both enthusiastic and knowing
patrons of the films, so that they had a good deal to talk
about, and frequently as they whispered, her head came
close to his and her hair even brushed his cheek. It was
tremendously exciting. The chief picture, a talkie—it
was Her Dearest Enemy, with Mary Meriden and
Hunter York—was good stuff, but it was nothing com-
pared to merely sitting in that balcony with Lena
Golspie, who, incidentally, was much prettier than Mary
Meriden. She herself thought she was just as pretty, but
Turgis was sure that she was much prettier, and told her
so several times. On this occasion he abandoned his
usual tactics. He did not even try to hold her hand.
He was content to sit there, to whisper, to be so near to
this fragrant dim loveliness, with his hunger, which he
had taken into so many picture theatres, momentarily
appeased. A dream had come true. He reminded him-
self of this, time after time, if only because the dream,