“And aren’t there fees to pay at the Imperial College?” her aunt was saying—a disagreeable question. Manning?” she asked. Let me see now. He fended these things off from him with the rump of his fourth piece of cake. 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. "She in intensely impressionable and romantic, and probably she is giving the chap qualities he doesn't possess. In the first place there were not so many suitable advertisements as she had expected.
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