“Ask Mr. Stephens to come down here and join us,” he said. “Bertie, bring up another chair to the table!”
But the girl returned almost immediately.
“Mr. Stephens is sorry, sir, but he is in a hurry, and he would be obliged if Mrs. Stephens would come upstairs.”
Andrée rose. But her expression alarmed her mother.
“Andrée!” she murmured, but her warning was unheeded. Andrée went slowly upstairs, and into the hall where her husband stood waiting. He had not removed his felt hat, but he had thrown open the fur-lined overcoat of which he was so absurdly proud. Never had his appearance so profoundly displeased her.
“What do you want?” she asked.
Her tone excited him to instant hostility.
“I told you I was coming,” he said.
“And I told you not to come.”
She looked at him.