“You saw that she was like a lily growing among weeds; that she was like a princess among the common people; that she behaved like the best-bred of ladies. That is what you would say, if you allowed yourself to speak the truth.” “If I speak at all I shall certainly speak the truth,” said Durant, with a sigh of impatience. To him as to everyone else, Nancy Bates had seemed only an ordinary pretty girl; nothing more. “Then speak!” said Arthur, “for if there is one assumption more intolerable than another, it is that of saying nothing with the aim of sparing your friend, as one who has nothing but what is disagreeable to say.” “You press me too hard,” said Durant, smiling. “What can I say after what you have said? Arthur, this girl may be a Una for anything I can tell--as you wish me to believe she is; but how can I know? I can see she is pretty; but I don’t know her; how can I divine what her character is? She may be everything you think; but all that _I_ can possibly make out is that she is a pretty girl, with sense enough to hold her tongue.” Arthur grew red and grew pale as his friend spoke; his lip curled over his teeth with a furious sneer, almost like the snarl of a dog. “Don’t you think,” he said, with an enraged semblance of extreme civility, “that when you are speaking of a lady who is about to become my wife, you might speak of her by another name than that of ‘the girl.’” “By Jove you are too good!” said Durant, half angry, half amused, “what should I say? You called her a girl yourself, and so she is; so are the Princesses for that matter.” “I call her many things which it would not become strangers to call her,” said Arthur, “and I think, perhaps, on the whole, it would be better taste not to favour me with your opinion on this subject. You would not, I suppose, give me your frank estimate of my mother, for instance, whatever it might be--and it is equally unnecessary of my wife.” “As you please,” said Durant, offended; and then there ensued a temporary pause, during which the stranger, driven back upon that occupation, munched a crust with indignant fervour, and Arthur sat moodily by, holding his head in his hands. It was Durant who was the first to recover himself. The man who stands in the suspicious position of adviser and reprover, naturally does regain his temper sooner than the person who is advised and reproved. He said in a conciliating tone, “Why should we quarrel? I can have no right to disapprove of your choice. I am not here as the agent of your family, Arthur, who might have a right to interfere, but only as your friend. I can wish nothing but what is for your good.” “For my good!” the young man said through his teeth; then he, too, smoothed himself down. “I don’t want to quarrel, Durant; but if my mother thinks I am to be dictated to--or any friend of mine supposes he can come to look surprise and criticism, even if he does not say anything----”