Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. ” “WHAT?” said Ann Veronica, startled.
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