” “It is,” he replied, “the one humiliation of my life. “You are Mademoiselle Pellissier?” he asked, without rising to his feet. 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. No means were neglected to accomplish this end. She had been so young then.
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