Involuntarily she shut the door, and advanced like a great, dangerous bird. Her voice rose, there was a touch of hoarseness in it.
“And what might your orders be, if you please?” she cried. “Who might you be, to give orders, in the house?”
He sat still, watching her.
“You know who I am,” he said. “At least, I know who you are.”
“Oh, you do? Oh, do you? And who am I then, if you’ll be so good as to tell me?”
He stared at her with his bright, dark eyes.
“You’re my Missis, you are,” he said. “And you know it, as well as I do.”
She started as if something had exploded in her.
Her eyes lifted and flared madly.
“Do I know it, indeed!” she cried. “I know no such thing! I know no such thing! Do you think a man’s going to walk into this bar, and tell me off-hand I’m his Missis, and I’m going to believe him?—I say to you, whoever you may be, you’re mistaken. I know myself for no Missis of yours, and I’ll thank you to go out of this house, this minute, before I get those that will put you out.”