“There are difficulties,” said Durant, “to make him go in the first place is not easy; and there is perhaps a claim of honour--I don’t know how to advise him to cancel his word.” “Honour! word!” said Mr. Eagles, in successive snorts, “I can see how well qualified you are for the business. Fiddlesticks! a little money afterwards would salve all that. Is he to ruin himself for the sake of his word--to Bates the tax-collector’s daughter!” The force of ridicule seemed incapable of going further. “I will not resort to your advice, Mr. Durant, no offence, when any of my men are in trouble.” “Thanks, I hope you will not,” said Durant, nettled; and so rushed to his train in considerable indignation and excitement. His word to Bates’s daughter! was not that as good as his word to a Duchess? the young man asked himself. He was near becoming Arthur’s advocate instead of his adversary. And if Lady Curtis assailed him as Mr. Eagles had done, what should he say to her? Must he lose all hopes of pleasing the family in consequence of this moral dilemma? Durant had no hope that any pleasure he could do to the family would ever really influence them towards the granting of his own private wishes which had never been breathed in any ear. He knew, in short, as well as a man can know by conviction of the understanding, that these wishes were absolutely hopeless, and that nothing he could do to propitiate the family would really tell upon them. But nevertheless he clung to the hope of proving himself useful, of doing something which would conciliate and dispose them towards him. Foolish young man! and what if Nancy Bates with her impetuous indignation, her self-confidence, her strong satisfaction in Arthur’s poverty, which would prove her disinterestedness, should spoil it all? CHAPTER VIII. “He has gone; he will never trouble you any more, and I hope you will forgive him, dear, for my sake. Poor old Durant, he has always looked after me, and bullied me. When I was at Eton first, I was his fag. I don’t think he can forget that.” “I daresay not,” said Nancy, “he thinks he should always have the upper hand. He thinks you should never have any friends but of his choosing. And then he will go and tell stories about us all to your father and mother.” “I don’t think, perhaps, you do him quite justice,” said Arthur, musing, with a flush on his face. “Old Durant is not like that. The worst he has to say, he will say to yourself, not behind your back; and he will not gossip about you.” “He is free to gossip as much as ever he likes, so far as I am concerned; but I don’t like those sort of people--and give into them I would not--not for the world!” “Mr. Durant is gone, is he?” said Sarah Jane, in a voice of dismay. “You are so selfish you two! What harm was he doing? I am sure he was very nice. What did you send him away for? It is so like you, Nancy, blazing up into one of your fits, and never thinking of spoiling other people’s fun--what you always do.”