To tell you the truth, he spoke to me very seriously upon the subject. How fortunate that she recognises the resemblance. 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. I sang to him, and he was satisfied. "In the mean time, with your permission, I'll just make a few minutes of our conversation. Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and, when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply her feelings had been interested.
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