The coloured woman’s eyes snapped as Eris entered her bed-room and closed the door.
To bathe and dress did not take her very long.
When she came out she was dressed for the street. There was no breakfast on the dining-room table, but she wanted none.
She went to the kitchen and found Hattie seated, feeding on hambone, and her rickety valise still unpacked.
“I want you to be out of this apartment by noon,” said Eris quietly. Then she opened the hall door and ran downstairs, Hattie’s malignant laugh ringing in her ears.
When Eris had disappeared, the negress waddled to the gas stove, lit it, and started to make herself a cup of tea. She meant to do what gastronomic damage she could short of theft.
Before the kettle boiled, the telephone rang. To ignore it was a haughty pleasure for Hattie; but presently African curiosity prevailed and she got up and waddled to the telephone, muttering to herself.
“Yaas, suh?” she replied to some query.
“Who?”
“Mistuh Annan?”