Meantime the spinsters sought the dining room where tea was being served. “Had he better have a nurse? I will be responsible for anything of that sort. She thought me— filthy. 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. But he only went home again to Paddington. "I am," replied Jonathan, following him, "and so," he added in an undertone, "are your captors. In Old Palace Yard everybody ran. No mother would have sent her daughter into the world with such a wardrobe.
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