’ She struck her hands together. 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. Only in her eyes there seemed to be some apprehension of the fact that the young man’s clothes and manners were alike undesirable things. Wood, "it may be poisoned. This is not the conduct of a jeune demoiselle. ” She shook her head gently. " "Not before I have conducted your child thither," retorted Jonathan, with a withering look.
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