Mrs. Richmond burst in upon her husband at his office with her fury intact. Richmond knew at a glance that he had to deal with a revolt and a dangerous one. He showed that he understood all about its origin by saying as soon as his secretary had gone: “You’ve been to see Beatrice.”
“She told you this morning that she was going into the dressmaking business?” said the wife, nostrils dilating, eyes blazing at him.
“Yes.” And Richmond concentrated himself in a corner of his big chair. It looked like a gesture of shrinking, of timidity. In fact, it was simply his way of gathering himself together at the first onslaught of danger.
“Here in New York!”
“Yes.”
“With Valentine!”
Richmond made a slight gesture of assent.
“And—Léry!”
Richmond from the corner of his chair stretched out one hesitating hand to the papers on the desk before him.
“What are you going to do about it?” demanded the wife in a low tone that sounded as if it had forced its way through clinched teeth.