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. The dress came to her only too manifestly unwashed from its former wearer; even the under-linen they gave her seemed unclean. But what he did say is that he thinks the Valades will receive very short shrift from his greatuncle the general. "I forgive him his disobedience. It was clear she wanted to get away from home, that she was impatient to get away from home. " This business over, she returned to the bedside with the key.
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