His friend, then, in pursuance of his resolution, set hard to work to convince him that, even taking it for granted that the whole was true which he had heard, he ought to overlook his son's fault, promote his marriage, and applaud the duel. In the first place, however, he found Sir Francis Tyrrell's whole opinions in regard to duelling suddenly, but not the less completely, changed. He had on former occasions declared a thousand times that fighting duels was one of the greatest modern improvements; that it was very true the bravest men of antiquity knew nothing of such a practice; but he added, it was simply because such a thing as a gentleman was then uninvented; that the discovery of that biped required duelling as a natural consequence; and that it was absolutely necessary, as society was constituted at present, to have the means of holding more than the mere law over the heads of personages who might be inclined to forget civility. Now, however, he was as eager on the contrary side of the question, and advocated boldly all the adverse arguments. Duelling was the most stupid and absurd practice that it was possible to conceive. The man who called another out, as well as the man who received such a call, was nine times out of ten an arrant coward. The very principle of the matter was cowardly, as well as absurd; and he had hoped, he said, that his son would not have shown himself to be so great and lamentable a fool. As Sir Francis had never been famous for his consistency, Mr. Driesen did not attempt to throw in his teeth, otherwise than by a slight sneer, his former opinions upon the same subject; but in regard to Lucy Effingham, he pointed out to Sir Francis that he had really no right to complain of his son falling in love with so beautiful a person, when he himself had brought them together for the very purpose. In answer to this, Sir Francis Tyrrell said, grinning at him all the time with a degree of spiteful scorn,