. CHAPTER VI Sidney Carton, thought Ruth, in pursuit of a sing-song girl! The idea was so incongruous that a cold little smile parted her lips. Hobson was not 147 amused by the situation, which handled wrongly, could lose him his job. “I wonder,” she said, “how much you care. \" She said. A vast indifference settled down upon him. 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. The shouts, yells, and groans which they uttered, and which were echoed by the concourse in the rear, were perfectly frightful. Prudence twinkled at them, and reached out to pat Melusine’s hand.
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