He scoffs, both at that reasoning and his chiding of blending in. "I came here not five minutes ago, unexpectedly. I've not so much as seen a clothes shop, and you're a fine one to talk about 'blending in'."
Narvin's response to 'please' is a withering look. "You're seriously considering leaving me here from my duties if I don't respond positively to your pedantic request for politeness?"
The idea obviously fills him with contempt. He so hates games like this. Nothing more than a bid for dominance, and with Romana at the sharp edge of Gallifreyan knives, Leela cosmos knows where finding herself, K9 stuck on the Axis and him in bloody Cardiff on Earth, he has no patience for it. "No, of course you would, after all, what's Gallifrey's well-being compared to maintenance of that ego of yours?"
And Narvin's not going to take that response lying down. How dare the Doctor try to lecture him on Gallifrey? To him it literally was precious. He'd given so much to it while the Doctor occasionally dropped by and helped in an emergency and even then, only because they dragged him there by his heels.
"And how would you know? Were you there, when Free Time created that virus that turned our people into lifeless zombies if they ever chose to regenerate, or when Arkadian held our world to ransom for a cure that cost us that ability to do so at all?
"Or does that just not count because Daleks have committed worse crimes? Even your precious humans aren't savage enough to agree with that, else they wouldn't bother prosecuting criminals at all by this stage."
He lets out a breath after his rant. "If you won't take me back because I am 'rude' then take me back because if you don't Romana will die if I am not there to protect her. You understand why I might consider insistence on manners somewhat petty compared to that?"