His hat was placed upon one pole, his wig on another. ‘You see,’ he pursued blandly, ‘I lead a life of the most intolerable boredom. 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. A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion. His face was that of a quick, intelligent-looking boy, with fine hazel eyes, and a clear olive complexion. Oh, Jack! repent, while it is yet time, of your evil conduct. He wanted to become a millionaire. For when this Joan said it, I had a memory.
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