"You? You thrash me?" he howled.

"Yes, me. Now get out!"

Lord Loudwater gnashed his teeth at him and again snapped his fingers. He
burned to rush round the table and hammer the life out of Grey, but he
could not do it; violent words, not violent deeds, were his
accomplishment. Moreover, there was something daunting in Grey's cold
and steady eye. He snapped his fingers again, and, pouring out a stream
of furious abuse, turned to the door and flung out of it. Mrs. Turnbull
scuttled aside into Grey's bedroom.

Half-way down the stairs Lord Loudwater paused to bellow: "I'll ruin you
yet, you scoundrel! Mark my word! I _will_ hound you out of the Army!"

He flung out of the house and found that the ostler had taken his horse
round to the stable, removed its bridle, and given it a feed of corn. He
cursed him heartily.

Grey rose, shut the door, and laughed gently. Then he frowned. Of a
sudden he perceived that, natural as had been his manner of dealing with
Lord Loudwater, he had handled him badly. At least, it was possible that
he had handled him badly. It would have been wiser, perhaps, to have been
suave and firm rather than firm and provoking. But it was not likely that
suavity would have been of much use; the brute would probably have
regarded it as weakness. But for Olivia's sake he ought probably to have
tried to soothe him. As it was, the brute had gone raging off and would
vent his fury on her.

What had he better do?