But you must allow me to observe, my good Sir, that you're wholly in the wrong respecting my friend. Mind, when we were all growed up, it were different. 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. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. "You see?" Ruth said. I was rude and stupid. ‘Will you stop hedging? I’m hanged if I go on with this ridiculous cat and mouse game. But I have powerful friends.
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