’ The girl glanced up the road and turned back, annoyance in her face. 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. Scissors with which to cut her hair, just in case. How I wish I might meet this delightful mystery lady of yours. Gerald’s judgement was borne out a moment later. Happened to be at the Chariot, you know, with Trodger, and it’s review day. She accomplished it with the aid of the young fellow’s hand, and stepped down into the road, glancing up at the house as she did so. Wood, when he does return, I'd send him about his business.
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