. The door closed softly upon her. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. “Before I took up the Suffrage,” a firm, flat voice remarked, “I could scarcely walk up-stairs without palpitations. 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. Winifred instantly picked it up. “So Brendon and I,” he said, “have been troubled with the same fears. “Your best route will be via Boulogne and Folkestone at nine o’clock from the Gare du Nord. It is extraordinary. “I am going through the other rooms.
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