Ingram, on his feet, in a rage which was the most manly he could have suffered, went after him at a run, and caught him up. “You blackguard,” he said, and panted. “Turn and fight with me.” Glyde stopped. “I'll not fight with you, Ingram,” was his measured reply, “because I've that in me which would kill you. No mercy for you there. You can go as you please; you can send me to gaol or not; but you shan't get me hanged. I've something to do with my life--as much of it as you leave me; and I want it.” As Ingram glared at him, crimson now, with bulging eyes and teeth at lips, the other went on. “I'm going no farther to-day than my lodging. Your police will find me there when you send 'em. I shan't fight them, because I can't afford it; and I shan't fight you, dog that you are, for the same reason.” Ingram cursed, and sprang at him, but Glyde stiffened his arm and held him off. Master was no match for man, and felt no better for the knowledge of that. It did serve, however, to bring him to his senses. He saw that he was making an ass of himself. “You'll hear more of this,” he said, and turned and walked rapidly back to the house. Mortification inflamed his rage; his furious walking blew into it a sense of incurable injury. Injury, shocked pride, and animal heat altogether made a devil of him. He went directly to his own room, and rang the bell. “Send Miss Percival to me,” he told Minnie, “at once.” Then he waited for her, with a face like a rat. XI She might have gathered warning from Minnie's panting summons, but had been busy over her accounts and had noticed nothing amiss. “He wants you, Miss Percival! Don't go!” She had scarcely heard. She said, “Who wants me? Mr. Ingram? I'll come;” and though the maid stammered, “I wouldn't, oh, I wouldn't,” had gone. The face he showed her from his bureau, where he sat huddled over a litter of papers, prepared her instantly for crisis; snarling, white and wicked, yet it had tragedy in it--as if he knew that he had himself to reckon with beyond all. For some time he seemed not to see her, though he looked at her. He sat glooming, like a man dumb in high fever, working his lower jaw, screwing and unscrewing his hands. Afterwards she believed that he had been groping for the cruellest thing he could say, and was goaded into what he did say by the sense that he could find nothing. “So that was your work? Your choice way! To set one of my own servants to club me.” She looked at him blankly; but her face glowed with sudden fire. “I haven't the least notion what you mean. Who has clubbed you?” His eyes flickered. “Glyde. Your friend. You seek your champions all about, it seems. You make things snug for yourself. It's master or man with you--it's all one.” He spluttered his venom broadcast. She held up her head. “Are you insulting me?” He wheeled round full in his chair. “Is it possible to insult you?”