And he sat down.
“I suppose you came up here to turn me out of the house?” she said.
“You deserve it,” he muttered.
But even now he did not look angry. There was a sort of savage glow on his face. It was evident that the violent physical effort he had just made, and the success of it, had irresistibly swept away his fury for the moment. It might return. Probably it would return. But for the moment it was gone. Lady Holme knew Fritz, and she knew that he was feeling good all over. The fact that he could feel thus in such circumstances set the brute in him before her as it had never been set before—in a glare of light.
“And what do you deserve?” she asked.
All her terror had gone utterly. She felt mistress of herself.
“When I went to thrash Carey he was so drunk I couldn’t touch him. This feller showed fight but he was a baby in my hands. I could do anything I liked with him,” said Lord Holme. “Gad! Talk of boxin’—”
He looked at his bandaged hand and laughed again triumphantly. Then, suddenly, a sense of other things than his physical strength seemed to return upon him. His face changed, grew lowering, and he thrust forward his under jaw, opening his mouth to speak. Lady Holme did not give him time.
“Yes, I sent Leo Ulford the latch-key,” she said. “You needn’t ask. I sent it, and told him to come to-night. D’you know why?”
Lord Holme’s face grew scarlet.