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 young lady saw the change, and almost snorted. ’ ‘Yes, but I have not gone,’ Melusine said impatiently. I am the richest man in the world. That's how I finally got wind of it.
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