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. Dolls. You will agree with me when you have heard what I have to say. Martin said “Hi” to her in the halls every day now, a sure sign of trouble. Mr. "Come along! We'll start that concert right away.
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