"The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. “Please stop fighting me. ‘His wife? Pah!’ ‘You’re saying she is not his wife?’ ‘I am saying nothing. "You'll get nothing out of me, I can promise you, unless you show a little more civility. 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. It was there in the breast pocket, stiff and legal looking. “How will you live?” she appealed. “But was it wise to sing to-night?” “Why not? The man was nothing to me. Their heads touched again, their arms tightened. Tell me all that happened, one sister-woman to another.
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