Norris entered the room, followed by Father Spencer. "He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. “I do not suppose he will be home till late. " "You astonish me," said the stranger, in a voice full of emotion. Do you like duck?” “Sure. 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.
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