Ford by the way she took up this idea. ‘I honour you for what you say, and I love you for it, Grace; but still you know Oliver’s profession is not what you would call very--lucrative, is it? and he could do his writing anywhere, you know!’ ‘Indeed, I don’t know anything of the kind,’ said Grace, indignantly. ‘He has to be constantly in the House when it is sitting. He has to know everything that is going on. Would you think your husband was well treated if he was made to manage his work, say from the seaside or a country house, for your sake and the children’s, instead of being on the spot? You know you would not, Trix.’ ‘Oh, well, perhaps that may be so; but then my husband--’ faltered Trix, with a troubled look. She would have said: ‘My husband is the breadwinner, and everything depends on him,’ but she was daunted by the look in Grace’s eyes, and actually did not dare to suggest that Oliver would be in a very different position. Mr. Wilbraham, the solicitor who managed Miss Goodheart’s affairs, interfered in the same way, with similar results. She was in a position of almost unexampled freedom for so young a woman. She had neither guardians nor trustees. There was nobody in the world who had a right to dictate to her or even authoritatively to suggest what she ought to do--for the reason that all she had had come to her as it were inadvertently, accidentally, because her uncle, who always said he intended to leave her nothing, had died without a will. Mr. Wilbraham was the only man in the world who had any right to say a word, and he had no real right, only the right of an old friend who had known her all her life, and knew everything about her. He said, when the settlement was being discussed (in which respect Mr. Wentworth’s behaviour was perfect--for all that he wished was to secure his wife in the undisturbed enjoyment of what was her own), that he hoped Miss Goodheart meant to remain, when she was married, among her own friends. ‘I don’t think you would like London after Ironborough,’ he said, with perfect sincerity; ‘and to get a house like this in town would cost you a fortune, you know.’ ‘It is not a question of liking,’ said Grace, with all the calm of faith; ‘of course, we must live where Mr. Wentworth’s work requires him to live. He cannot carry on his profession in the country.’ ‘The country!’ said Mr. Wilbraham, with a sneer which his politeness to an excellent client could only soften. ‘Does he call this the country? and Mr. Wentworth’s profession, if you will permit me to say so, has, so far as I know--’ ‘It is the country though, you know,’ said Grace, preserving her temper, though with a little difficulty, ‘though not exactly what you could call fresh fields and pastures new.’