Her small sun-browned hands fidgeted among the cups.

If anything remained of her anger and emotion, she hid it under a ripple of absurd housewifely chatter, not waiting for him to answer.
'Well, is it to be tea or whiskey ?' 'Tea, please,' and then at last she stopped and looked at him and could not turn her eyes away, or did not want to do so.

His black orbs stared with a disquieting fixity--a sort of inhuman power--from out of his foreign-looking face.

That stare was his chief weapon in the subjugation of women--they called it magnetic, and no doubt it was so.
It increased the fascination of his ugly good looks.
The gaze of each one seemed to fuse in that of the other.

Hers, at first coldly curious, tentative, caught light, warmth, intensity from the sombre fire of his.