Then she walked straight into the living-room where her husband slouched against the mantel, his hands in his pockets, an unlighted cigarette sagging over his chin.
“Get out of this house!” she said in a low voice that quivered.
“Send that wench of yours to the kitchen,” he retorted coolly.
Suddenly something about this man frightened her. It was a vague, formless fear. But it was fear. She felt the chill of it.
“Will you leave this house?” she managed to say.
“You listen to me first.”
Again a swift, indefinite fear silenced her. Danger was written all over this man. What menaced her she did not know, had no vaguest guess. But never before had she looked into eyes so perilous.
When she found her voice:
“You may start breakfast, Hattie,” she said.
“Start some for me, too,” added Graydon, without removing his gaze from Eris.