'Half a mile,' Mr. Pomeroy answered drily, as he filled his glass.' Then I shall stop the chaise--with a pistol if you like, jump in--a merry surprise for the nymph; and before twelve we shall be at Tamplin's. And you'll be free of it.' Mr. Thomasson pondered, his face flushed, his eyes moist. 'I think you are the devil!' he said at last. 'Is it a bargain? And see here. His lordship has gone silly on the girl. You can tell him before he leaves what you are going to do. He'll leave easy, and you'll have an evidence--of your good intentions!' Mr. Pomeroy added with a chuckle. 'Is it a bargain?' 'I'll not do it!' Mr. Thomasson cried faintly. 'I'll not do it!' But he sat down again, their heads came together across the table; they talked long in low voices. Presently Mr. Pomeroy fetched pen and paper from a table in one of the windows; where they lay along with one or two odd volumes of Crebillon, a tattered Hoyle on whist, and Foote's jest book. A note was written and handed over, and the two rose. Mr. Thomasson would have liked to say a word before they parted as to no violence being contemplated or used; something smug and fair-seeming that would go to show that his right hand did not understand what his left was doing. But even his impudence was unequal to the task, and with a shamefaced good-night he secured the memorandum in his pocket-book and sneaked up to bed. He had every opportunity of carrying out Pomeroy's suggestion to make Lord Almeric his confidant. For when he entered the chamber which they shared, he found his lordship awake, tossing and turning in the shade of the green moreen curtains; in a pitiable state between chagrin and rage. But the tutor's nerve failed him. He had few scruples--it was not that; but he was weary and sick at heart, and for that night he felt that he had done enough. So to all my lord's inquiries he answered as sleepily as consisted with respect, until the effect which he did not wish to produce was produced. The young roué's suspicions were aroused, and on a sudden he sat up in bed, his nightcap quivering on his head. 'Tommy!' he cried feverishly. 'What is afoot downstairs? Now, do you tell me the truth.' 'Nothing,' Mr. Thomasson answered soothingly. 'Because--well, she's played it uncommon low on me, uncommon low she's played it,' my lord complained pathetically; 'but fair is fair, and willing's willing! And I'll not see her hurt. Pom's none too nice, I know, but he's got to understand that. I'm none of your Methodists, Tommy, as you are aware, no one more so! But, s'help me! no one shall lay a hand on her against her will!' 'My dear lord, no one is going to!' the tutor answered, quaking in his bed.