In no way could he be said to contribute to the gaiety of the little party. Earles thinks I am a little mad, and between ourselves I am not sure about it myself. His brain reeled. We think the whole thing is straight and noble at bottom, and it isn’t. 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. “Kindly explain it to me.
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