He arrived at 6:29 sharp on the night of the Junior Prom. 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. “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time. ’ She moved to Melusine’s side as she spoke.
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