Anna hailed a bus. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. Mr. Sir Rowland waved his hand, and the attendant withdrew. Do you know how late it is?” She nodded. She laughed as the deluge seemed to grow worse with every step. 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. ” “Oh, I’m not trying to help it,” said Ann Veronica. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt.
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