Arthur was moved to the bottom of his heart. It did not occur to him to think of her own description of “foreigners,” who pretend kindness as long as they have something to gain. Nay, more than that, _she_ did not think of it either. Nancy was quite sincere. By talking about it, she had made a certainty in her own mind that this was really all she wanted, that in such circumstances happiness would come of itself, without frets or interruption; and in what other way could that be secured? She was so earnest in carrying her point, that she really felt all she expressed. Whereas, if he took her away, if he insisted on _his_ plan, Nancy felt that she could not answer for herself. It was for his sake as well as hers; it was for their good as well as for their happiness. And what could Arthur answer to all this? The fact that she wanted anything, was not that the most powerful argument for having it? His own inclinations were strongly in favour of absence, and he believed that this teaching of which she spoke, and which he had fully intended, could get itself accomplished far better on the Riviera, or in the villa among the chestnut woods at Castellamare than anywhere near the house of the Bates’. But what could he do or say against her? He tried to beguile her into talk of what might happen after, when they would go into society, and when, perhaps, he should be able to take her to Oakley to see all its beauties. But this was a subject of which Nancy was very shy. She would not speak of Arthur’s “people,” whom she no longer called “folks.” When she did make their acquaintance, she wanted to do so in a way which would dazzle them. She could not tolerate the idea of any condescension on their part to Arthur’s wife. No, she must have surmounted all difficulties, and feel able to consider herself as much a lady as any of them, before she met those ladies who were her natural enemies and rivals. For Arthur’s sake she would avoid them until she could burst upon them in full glory of new instruction and knowledge. “Don’t speak to me about Oakley,” she said. “It was all I could do to make sure Oakley was its name when Denham talked of it. It makes me angry to hear of it. I, your wife, not to know it, not to know anything about it or them! when every poor creature of an ambassador’s flunkey goes there.” “Don’t be too hard upon old Denham,” said Arthur, laughing. “How he would be pleased to hear you! But not Denham, Nancy, if you love me. Your mouth was not made to drop words in that careless way.” “Oh, nonsense, Arthur! What should I say? Sir John is so formal. _You_ would not say Denham if it was wrong,” said Nancy, recovering a little from the too great amiability of this episode; and then she added, “You have asked me to do something for you. I will do it. I will not bargain with you, but I will do it; only you must not see my letter, or school me. I will write out of my own head.”