“Can I not ask you a favour--acknowledging it to be a favour, without a quarrel?” said Arthur. “We have been married a fortnight, and how often have we quarrelled already? Nancy, is it worth the while? Could we not discuss a matter that concerns us both, calmly, without anger? If it seems to you impossible, say so. Am I unreasonable to torment you about a thing you refuse? But why quarrel--I hate it--and you cannot--like it.” “How do you know I don’t like it?” she cried; then stopped herself, with some dim perception of her folly. “I will not do it,” she said, doggedly, “that is enough. My lady has never taken any notice of me--no, nor even your sister, that you are always holding up as a model. I will not lay myself down at their feet to be trampled upon; you may do it yourself, if you please.” “I shall certainly write,” he said. “There will be no treading upon; but I shall write. If you will not do it, of course I cannot help it; but if you will be persuaded--out of your love for me--then I will be grateful to you, very grateful, Nancy. I will not say any more.” “I shall not do it,” she said; and then there ensued a silence, which was so long that it alarmed her. Generally Arthur had been but too obsequious, anxious to make up, to clear away any lingering cloud; but this time he said nothing. The fact was that his mind was too full of a multitude of thoughts to leave him any time to speak. He was wondering, in a kind of desolate way, what to do. He had ceased to be an independent agent, he could not go there and come here at his own pleasure. To be sure he was supposed to be the authority, to decide everything, to regulate every step they took; but how different this was in reality from the sound of it! A man has a right to take his wife where he pleases--yes, when she will go; but if the man is a tender-hearted, generous, foolish, impulsive young fellow in love, what becomes of this sublime authority of his? just about as much as comes of all the defences the law can place around a woman to save her from cruelty and oppression, when she happens to be of a like nature and loves her tyrant. Law is one thing, and love is another. Arthur did not know how to oppose Nancy, how to make any move without her agreement and sympathy, and he had already had many indications which way her mind was fixed. She wanted to go home to England, to Underhayes: and he wanted her to stay away, to remove further off from England. His whole mind was occupied by the discussion of expedients how to manage this, how to persuade her from her desire. And he was not even aware of the silence into which he sank, and which she thought so deliberate, and done with so distinct an intention of punishing her. They drove along in the Victoria, which had carried them about so often, side by side neither saying a word. Already Nancy’s appearance had changed. She had put aside her traveling-dress for another “silk” which Arthur had given her, and