Smith will tell you I'm misinformed, also, on that point. 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. That knot also would be cut. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection. " "Well, well, since you desire it, I'll say no more," returned Wood. Near by stood Ah Cum and the young unknown, the former protesting gently, the latter insistent upon his demands. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked.
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