Yes, his principle was right, and he lashed with it, and prodded with it, drove himself out into the sour wilds where bachelordom crops noxious weeds without a hallowing luminary, and clung to it, bruised and bleeding though he was.
The gentleness of Lady Dunstane soothed him during the term of a visit that was rather like purgatory sweetened by angelical tears.

He was glad to go, wretched in having gone.

She diverted the incessant conflict between his insubordinate self and his castigating, but avowedly sovereign, principle.

Away from her, he was the victim of a flagellation so dire that it almost drove him to revolt against the lord he served, and somehow the many memories at Copsley kept him away.

Sir Lukin, when speaking of Diana's 'engagement to that fellow Warwick,' exalted her with an extraordinary enthusiasm, exceedingly hard for the silly beast who had lost her to bear.