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. ” “Pick you up at 4:00? My parents would like to invite you to my house for dinner. At present I cannot marry, I will not become bound even to any one. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters.
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