When, however, she reflected and compared which of the two she would rather have for the husband of her daughter, Charles Tyrrell or Arthur Hargrave, she was inclined to clasp her hands together, and exclaim without hesitation, "Oh, Charles, by all means! With him there is always some hope; with him there is always some resource. It would be difficult, I should think, for a well-intentioned person to miss the means of either moving him by his feelings or convincing him by his reason. No, no," she added, "he can never become like his father; but I fear, I very much fear, lest the intense and fiery disposition which I see is so ungovernable within him, may lead him to acts which will bring misery on himself and on those that love him." What were the feelings of Lucy Effingham herself, and what the view which she took of the characters of Sir Francis Tyrrell's family, we shall not pause to inquire. She had attached herself greatly to Lady Tyrrell, and with her winning sweetness had wound herself so closely round that lady's heart, that, ere she left Harbury Park, its mistress looked upon her almost as a daughter. The fourth personage which formed the society that Mrs. Effingham and her daughter left behind when they proceeded to take up their abode at the manor-house, was abhorred and disliked by both; but Mr. Driesen did not, or would not, or could not, find it out. He was plentifully furnished, as we have had occasion to show, with that most serviceable and comforting of properties, self-conceit. People might disagree with him in all his views, oppose him in argument, or frankly acknowledge their dislike for the principles he inculcated, without affecting his opinion of himself in the least. He believed, in general, that the only thing for which anybody argued was victory. He thought, with the utmost confidence, that he was always victorious, and believed (as was indeed the case) that he was always more or less eloquent, and therefore concluded that his opponents must be convinced, and admire, even if they did not like him. At all events, his love of himself was an impregnable citadel which nothing could storm. He had seldom, if ever, ventured out of it, it is true, to attack any one else violently, though once or twice he had done so in younger days, and had shown himself decidedly a man of courage: valuing the life of this world very little, though he believed that there was none other beyond the grave, and not at all scrupulous of risking it for the purpose of punishing any one who very deeply offended him.