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. He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. He stood away from her. "But, take my advice, and keep out of Sir Rowland's way, or you'll get the poor lady into trouble as well as me. " "Pray do so, Madam," retorted Mrs. ’ She flounced back to stare out of the window again.
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