"You answer me," he hissed, "or I’ll——”
She laughed.
"You’ll what?" she asked contemptuously. "Throw me down the stairs? Choke me?"
He released her.
"You damnable woman!" he said. "You’ve some outrageous scheme, I know; but you’ll get nothing out of me. Nothing! Not a penny!"
"I don’t suppose I will!" she said, half to herself, as she turned away and went on into the kitchen.
There, on a high stool before the table, sat Mrs. Russell, wearing an apron and, unaccountably, a little housemaid’s cap. Her great feet were twisted about the stool, and she was bent forward intently over the salad she was mixing. Annie was at the stove, stirring, tasting, lifting covers, peering into the oven, and listening, with an air of complete incredulity, to her mistress.
"My dear!" cried Mrs. Russell, catching sight of Angelica. "How nice!"
She had, to tell the truth, quite forgotten that she had invited her.
"I’m sorry I’m late——” Angelica began.