’ ‘What?’ Roding’s glare tried Gerald’s control severely, but he pursued his theme unheeding. Lucy stared at the girl for a long ten seconds, and then looked away. 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. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. “Had he better have a nurse? I will be responsible for anything of that sort. We are in love. Not I. White would not approve of callers. You have watched all the uncouth creations of my brain come sprawling out upon the canvas, and besides, we have been companions. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. C.
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