They were lost on Squeers, however, whose gaze was fastened on the luckless Smike, as he inquired, according to custom in such cases, whether he had anything to say for himself.
"Nothing, I suppose?" said Squeers, with a diabolical grin.
Smike glanced round, and his eyes rested for an instant on Nicholas, as if he had expected him to intercede; but his look was riveted on his desk.
"Have you anything to say?" demanded Squeers again, giving his right arm two or three flourishes to try its power and suppleness.
"Stand a little out of the way, Mrs. Squeers, my dear; I've hardly got enough room."
"Spare me, sir!" cried Smike.
"Oh! that's all, is it?" said Squeers. "Yes, I'll flog you within an inch of your life, and spare you that."
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Mrs. Squeers, "that's a good un!"
"I was driven to it," said Smike, faintly; and casting another imploring look about him.
"Driven to it, were you?" said Squeers. "Oh! it wasn't your fault; it was mine, I suppose—eh?"