But her temper almost flared again when the sergeant spoke. "Swear that you will do this," she cried. Well might she do so, Gerald thought in irritation. CHAPTER IV. "Release her instantly, villain!" Both Winifred and her suitor started at this sudden apparition. 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. It was a unique experience for her to wash him. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. She had changed into dungarees herself and kept her hair as it was.
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