'But otherwise,' the tutor persisted; 'two days for the second?'
Bully Pomeroy nodded.
'But then, the question is, can we keep her here?'
'Four days?'
'Yes.'
Mr. Pomeroy laughed harshly. 'Ay,' he said, 'or six if needs be and I lose. You may leave that to me. We'll shift her to the nursery to-morrow.'
'The nursery?' my lord said, and stared.
'The windows are barred. Now do you understand?'
The tutor turned a shade paler, and his eyes sank slyly to the table. 'There'll--there'll be no violence, of course,' he said, his voice a trifle unsteady.
'Violence? Oh, no, there will be no violence,' Mr. Pomeroy answered with an unpleasant sneer. And they all laughed; Mr. Thomasson tremulously, Lord Almeric as if he scarcely entered into the other's meaning and laughed that he might not seem outside it. Then, 'There is another thing that must not be,' Pomeroy continued, tapping softly on the table with his forefinger, as much to command attention as to emphasise his words, 'and that is peaching! Peaching! We'll have no Jeremy Twitcher here, if you please.'