She wanted to take him in her arms and hush him, but she sat perfectly still. When she arrived at the Palazzo, not a single sentry was aware of her presence. "The devil!" ejaculated Jonathan. It was the end, she told herself, fiercely. ‘I’m following a scent. I am Lucilla Froxfield, you must know. 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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