and agreeable, when pleased; but he had that personal pride which is as
stubborn as any haughtiness of descent, and infinitely more inflammable.
It was no idle brag when he told the Crompton chaplain that he would put
up with injustice from no man (if he could help it), and would repay his
wrong-doer sevenfold (if he got the chance). His sense of right was very
acute and sensitive, especially as respected himself. All his passions
were strong. Much of this might probably be said of any young gentleman
of position accustomed to have his own way: lads of spirit (who can
afford it) do not put up with slights; young noblemen in moments of
exhilaration may even pitch into policemen; and generally, where there
is no temptation to offend, much is forgiven. The danger in Richard
Yorke's case was that his position was far from assured, while he had
done some things which might prove great obstacles to his ever winning
one. He had all the sensitiveness and impatience of one born to fortune,
without the money.

Mrs. Yorke was too wise a woman not to be acquainted with her son's
character. Her love for him was very great; as great and disinterested
as that with which the most religious and well-principled of women
regard their offspring; but it did not blind her to his faults. Her
experience of life had not led her to expect perfection; her standard of
morals was of very moderate height, and Dick came fully up to it; yet
she felt that her son was headstrong, impulsive, and occasionally
ungovernable. He had taken his own line in respect to his dealings with
Chandos and with others, in spite of her urgent entreaties. Her
opposition, though fruitless, had indeed been so strenuous that the
subject was a sore one between them; and had the opportunity been less
palpable, she would scarcely have ventured to revert to it that night.
She had done so, however, and carried her point. He had passed his word
to her that he would undertake no more such hazards, and Dick's word was