Their small talk continued. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. Turning, she heaved at the bottom door and slammed it in his face just as he came leaping forward to grab her. "Give me the link," cried Jonathan. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. Slowly and ruefully she realized why marriage was so idealized among her generations of those before her.
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