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. ” She disengaged herself from him and went out of the room with a grave, preoccupied expression. Between him and the beach stood the sum of six hundred dollars. Capes scored back with an uncompromising vigor that was his way of complimenting her intelligence. He had found her in a communicative mood, and he used the accumulated skill of years in turning that to account.
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