Yet you want battles, you want your frontiers defended.
A moment, sir! there is no need for heat, no need for any words.

The matter may be said to be at an end." He smiled--a thought viciously, be it confessed--and then played his trump card, hurled his bombshell.
"Since the views of your Council are in such utter opposition to the views of the Commander-in-Chief, you will no doubt welcome Lord Wellington's proposal to withdraw from this country and to advise his Majesty's Government to withdraw the assistance which it is affording you." There followed a long spell of silence, O'Moy sitting back in his chair, his chin in his hand, to observe the result of his words.

Nor was he in the least disappointed.

Dom Miguel's mouth fell open; the colour slowly ebbed from his cheeks, leaving them an ivory-yellow; his eyes dilated and protruded.

He was consternation incarnate.
"My God!" he contrived to gasp at last, and his shaking hands clutched at the carved arms of his chair.
"Ye don't seem as pleased as I expected," ventured O'Moy.
"But, General, surely...