‘Let them say it,’ retorted Oliver, raising his head, quickly, and without flinching; ‘that is another affair. The end may justify the means, if some small love of fair play and poor humanity keep a man true to his colours, through evil as well as good report; if his conscience clear him, and they who ought to know, are satisfied he is falsely accused. But only charity on the brain can regard Harry Stanhope as bitten by a rabid regard for his kind, or for anybody save himself, and perhaps his second self Horry.’ He tried her on other grounds. ‘How can you take it upon you to be a farmer’s wife, Fan? How can you pretend to acquirements which you never possessed, which you have never so much as tried to gain? You have always had the strongest prejudice against the position of a tradesman, and I take it you cannot put a yeoman on a much higher level. Your ambition, which you did not conceal, was to lead the life of a conventional lady.’ ‘I was silly,’ said Fan, composedly. ‘I did not know what a gentleman could do, and yet retain his gentle bearing unimpaired. I never met a true gentleman—forgive me, Oliver—till I saw Harry Stanhope. I will learn all farmhouse work that a farmer’s wife can do, for the sake of my farmer, to help him to conquer fortune, more quickly than I learned lessons at school to fit me to be your companion. I am not afraid to say that I will be a good farmer’s wife—behind none in the country.’ Fan pledged herself proudly, and Oliver knew the pledge would be redeemed, though Fan died for it. ‘Are you willing to enter a family, every member of which will look down on you, if one of them own you at all, which I very much doubt? Can you not open your wilfully closed eyes enough to see that Horace Stanhope has not come here of late with his brother?’