Forgive me. Anna stared back at every one with undaunted composure. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. After that, we'll go our several ways. 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. Nice goings on. Nothing could have been farther from Melusine’s mind. “Our interest lies in heading them off. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate.
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