She waited a few minutes, then greeted the burly doorman who stood as the building’s lone sentry. Dump popped his head into the cage. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. "Put down your burthen, monster!" shouted Wood, pointing an immense blunderbuss at him.
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