She sighed. “That isn’t an option, Roy. Health and Safety would never allow it.”

She has a sense of humor, I thought. What a pity her eyes are so cold.

“We rather thought we might not need to have this talk,” said La Buckfast. “But since you’re being so stubborn—”

“Who’s this we?” I interrupted. “Have you and Johnny Harrington merged as one, like Hermaphroditus and Salmacis? Or is it the pronoun of the New Order? Let me tell you, Ms. Buckfast, we can have as many of these little talks as you like. You can sit in on as many of my lessons as you like, and observe as many dictations and silent prose translations as you can stomach, but you will not force me to retire; nor will you convince me that principle should ever give in to progress.”

That smile again. It occurred to me once more how much she reminds me of the intrepid Miss Dare.

“Principle?” she repeated. “Roy, this is all about principles. Listen, we’ve discussed this. We think that you may be getting too close to a group of boys in your form. Especially young Allen-Jones. We think he’s a toxic influence.”

I made the Old Head’s favorite sound. “There are several of those around,” I said. “But Allen-Jones isn’t one of them. I mean, what is he supposed to have done?”

That smile again. “Oh, Roy,” she said. “You’re so protective of your boys. I do respect that, really I do. But after the Rupert Gunderson thing—”

I said, in a few choice Latin words, what I thought of Gunderson.

The smile did not waver. La Buckfast said: “Yes, well. The fact of the matter is, Allen-Jones may be facing expulsion.”

I sprang to my feet. My lower back creaked alarmingly.

“No,” I said. “That isn’t fair.”

It occurred to me that my choice of words made me sound more like a schoolboy than an Old Centurion of St. Oswald’s, but the events of the past few weeks have made me feel like a schoolboy in my own department. It isn’t a pleasant feeling, and for once I can’t blame Dr. Devine.

“It isn’t about fairness,” she said. “It’s about avoiding disruption. Your boy Allen-Jones doesn’t fit in here. He’s a disruptive influence. Just look at Benedicta Wild. We’re trying to rebuild St. Oswald’s, Roy, and that means getting rid of those things that stand in the way of progress. It may have been all right once for St. Oswald’s to be eccentric, old-­fashioned, and full of character. But now it needs to run properly, and it won’t if the machinery is full of old parts that just don’t fit.”

“Old farts, you mean.”

“I wouldn’t have put it that way myself.”