" "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. 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. ” He took an optimist view of her chances. He came along, he said, just to call, with large, loud apologies, radiantly kind and good. Melusine sighed with frustration. He refused to believe that Anna was not ‘Alcide.
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