"Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper. 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. You'll find her at Black Mary's Hole. Get me an interview with her. Her mother did not seem to like the new doctor at all, shunning him with a near superstitious dread. He stared at the woman depicted thereon for a long moment, awe in his head.
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