’ ‘And was not she put out?’ demanded Miss Froxfield with a tinkling laugh. ’ ‘Indeed?’ Gerald said politely. There were dark rims under her eyes, soft now with unshed tears. I almost wish we hadn't come. But let that verse tell my secret. 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 is to set me right with Winifred. Still, thereafter she had avoided Morgan's; partly out of fear and partly because of her father's mandate. Let me recommend a glass of wine.
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