"If I had stayed in Shropshire and never become your magician, then you'd have to put up with me running an estate. I'm not sure what would be worse!" Oh, Strange knows that given enough time and effort, he would be alright at running an estate. After all, nothing forces one to adapt like circumstances beyond their control. But he knows he would have hated it and complained and Arabella would have hated his complaining.

And at Arabella's question, Strange frowns slightly. Because it's not just a carnival, is it: it's a faerie carnival. And she needs to know. If he doesn't tell her, then some other soul will mention the faerie bit and there'll just be another argument between the two of them. A problem, as Strange desperately wants to dance and be with Arabella and just not think. Arguments require thinking, words volleying back and forth like a game of badminton.

"Oh, I dare say they'd call me irresponsible, mad, someone who never thought things through, not respectable, the usual." As Arabella leans against his chest, Strange reaches his arms around her, to pull her closer towards him. "The thing is, I don't really care what they'd say—only what you'd think."