“And so,” pursued Bella, “as to seeking to please myself, I don’t; except in the one respect I have mentioned. I am indifferent otherwise.”

“But you can’t help pleasing, Bella,” said Mrs. Lammle, rallying her with an arch look and her best smile, “you can’t help making a proud and an admiring husband. You may not care to please yourself, and you may not care to please him, but you are not a free agent as to pleasing: you are forced to do that, in spite of yourself, my dear; so it may be a question whether you may not as well please yourself too, if you can.”

Now, the very grossness of this flattery put Bella upon proving that she actually did please in spite of herself. She had a misgiving that she was doing wrong⁠—though she had an indistinct foreshadowing that some harm might come of it thereafter, she little thought what consequences it would really bring about⁠—but she went on with her confidence.

“Don’t talk of pleasing in spite of one’s self, dear,” said Bella. “I have had enough of that.”