"Rose will do as she is told, and Martin too," observed the mother.
"I am going to church."
So her son replied, with the ineffable quietude of a true Yorke, who knows his will and means to have it, and who, if pushed to the wall, will let himself be crushed to death, provided no way of escape can be found, but will never capitulate.
"It is not fit weather," said the father.
No answer. The youth read studiously; he slowly broke his bread and sipped his milk.
"Martin hates to go to church, but he hates still more to obey," said Mrs. Yorke.
"I suppose I am influenced by pure perverseness?"
"Yes, you are."
"Mother, _I am not_."

"Rose will do as she is told, and Martin too," said the mother.
"I am going to church." So her son replied quietly, like a true Yorke, who knows his will and means to have it.
"It is not fit weather," said the father.
No answer. The youth read studiously; he slowly broke his bread and sipped his milk.
"Martin hates to go to church, but he hates still more to obey," said Mrs. Yorke.
"I am not influenced by pure perverseness,