Don’t ask me how. I’ve just finished my first symphony!” He said proudly. He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel! The strange cortège presently vanished below the window-sill. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. 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. Doctor Ralph looked kind and large, and listened to Alice’s responses as though he was listening to symptoms and thought that on the whole she was progressing favorably.
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