It was like standing in a room in a dim old castle to which he had been brought as a prisoner, while the terrible old woman was his jailer.

Then the click of the knitting needles brought him back to the present and reality, but reality itself, despite the sunshine and the perfume of the roses, was heavy and oppressive.
Dick apparently was looking from the window at the garden, brilliant with flowers, but in fact he was closely watching the woman out of the corner of his eye.

He had learned to read people by their own eyes, and he had seen how hers burned when she looked at them.

Strength of will and intent lie in the human eye.

Unless it is purposely veiled it tells the mind and power that are in the brain back of it.
A fear of her crept slowly over him.