When the hero finally did appear, Ruth became filled with gentle self-mockery. Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. No matter what they do, always someone to bolster them up, to lend them money, and to coddle them. 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 left the room, and she stood motionless, with flaming cheeks, listening to his retreating footsteps.
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