He had been able to arrive at no solution.

Duty seemed to point one way; instinct the other.

Down in his heart he felt that when the moment came it would be the behests of instinct that he would obey, and, in obeying them, play false to Sir Richard and to the memory of his mother.

It was the only course that went with honor; and yet it was a course that must lead to a break with the one friend he had in the world--the one man who stood to him for family and kin.
And now, as if that were not enough to plague him, there was this quarrel with Rotherby which he had upon his hands.

That, too, he had been considering during the wakeful hours of that summer night.