"He seems infatuated about the lad," observed Wild. ’ ‘For shame, Hilary,’ admonished his fiancée, casting a pitying glance at the refugees. You were wide the mark, physically; otherwise you had him pat. Killed is too kind a word. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. 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.
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