CHAPTER XXIII. It was a look that accorded very well with the hayloft setting that had come to mind. 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. Anna sent her away. ” “It’s impossible. I'm likely to get up any time in the night to work. ’ It was a wait of several minutes while Melusine chafed. I suppose the phrase—the word—originally meant a man who searched for food on the beach. ” “It is an accident,” he answered. . Anyhow he confessed that he was a fraud.
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