” Annabel shook her head. I applaud your prudence: it is, however, needless. 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 could imagine it even if he could not feel it. A mate? A brother-lover to tromp about the world with? “I cannot. ” “Thank you. Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared.
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