Whilst we were thus situated, the first words I heard distinctly were those of the gentleman, saying, ‘No, Frank, I can never have a good opinion of him; the boy who could once deceive may, for aught I know, do so again; he has, by breaking his word, forfeited the only dependence one could possibly have in him. A person who has once lost his honour has no means left of gaining credit to his assertions. By honour, Frank, I would be understood to speak of veracity, of virtue, of scorning to commit a mean action, and not that brutish sense in which some understand it, as if it consisted in a readiness to fight and resent an injury; for so far am I from considering such behaviour as any proof of honour, that, on the contrary, I look upon it as a sure sign of want of proper spirit and true honour. Fools, bullies, and even cowards, will fight; whereas none but men of sense and resolution and true magnanimity know how to pardon and despise an insult.’ ‘But, indeed, sir,’ replied the boy, ‘at school, if one did not fight, they would laugh at one so, there would be no such thing as bearing it.’ ‘And for that very reason it is, my dear, that I say, to pass by and pardon an insult requires more resolution and courage than mere fighting does. When I wish you to avoid quarrelling and fighting, I by no means want you to become a coward, for I as much abhor a dastardly spirit as any boy in your school can possibly do; but I would wish you to convince them that you merited not that appellation, by showing through the whole of your behaviour, a resolution that despised accidental pain, and avoided revenging an affront for no other reason than because you were convinced it shewed a much nobler spirit to pardon than to resent. And you may be assured, my dear, few are the days that pass without affording us some opportunity of exerting our patience, and showing that, although we disdain quarrelling, still we are far from being cowards.