I am ready to suffer anything, provided only you will forbear to insult the memory of my mother." With these words she sought her own room, where she indulged in a long fit of bitter grief.
Sir Thomas Gourlay, in these painful contests of temper with his candid and high-minded daughter, was by no means so cool and able as when engaged in similar exercitations with strangers.

The disadvantage against him in his broils with Lucy, arose from the fact that he had nothing in this respect to conceal from her.

He felt that his natural temper and disposition were known, and that the assumption of any and every false aspect of character, must necessarily be seen through by her, and his hypocrisy detected and understood.

Not so, however, with strangers.

When manoeuvring with them, he could play, if not a deeper, at least a safer game; and of this he himself was perfectly conscious.
Had his heart been capable of any noble or dignified emotion, he must necessarily have admired the greatness of his daughter's mind, her indomitable love of truth, and the beautiful and undying tenderness with which her affection brooded over the memory of her mother.