In the doorway he stood staring at her with a vacant, sardonic look, his gray eyes moving with a queer light And she looked back at him with a curious, rather haughty carelessness.
“Don’t you want your breakfast?” she asked. It was his custom to come and take breakfast with her each morning.
“No,” he answered loudly. “I went to a tea shop.”
“Don’t shout,” she said. “I can hear you quite well.”
He looked at her with mockery and a touch of malice.
“I believe you always could,” he said, still loudly.
“Well, anyway, I can now, so you needn’t shout,” she replied.
And again his gray eyes, with the queer, grayish phosphorescent gleam in them, lingered malignantly on her face.
“Don’t look at me,” she said calmly. “I know all about everything.”
He burst into a pouf of malicious laughter.