” “But is that really so?” said Ann Veronica. Do you think that I shall ever make an actress, my friend?” “I doubt it,” he answered bluntly. 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. If only you could see the people who have been to call on me! Sir John has the most absurd ideas, too.
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