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. good, miss. It is better to face the truth. Gerald noted the lady’s eyes brighten as she caught sight of him making his way through the throng towards her. It took all my self control not to let my hands wander. ” “Well?” “Sir John came to me—that you know—and you can guess what I told him. ” “Is it necessary to send for the police?” Anna asked.
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