"I think you are. But never mind; it is what we both want to be. I suppose one never would sacrifice one's self in a great matter, if it had not first become 'the law' in small everyday things."
"My father says every small choice between right and wrong is a rehearsal for some greater choice to follow. One can understand that. But I ought to go home."
"Are you in such a hurry?"
"No; not a hurry, only—"
"Only you think you ought. I believe 'ought' governs every inch of your life."
"It ought," Ethel said involuntarily. She was moving towards the door, and with a sudden impulse she lifted her eyes again, smiling. "At all events, I have not come here for nothing. I'm afraid I talked nonsense at first; but you have given me a thought for Christmas."
"What thought?"—though he knew.
"Just that—self-sacrifice in little things. Great things don't come in my way; but there is no end to the little opportunities. Now we have to turn out the gas and grope to the door."
"One word!" Nigel's voice was husky, and Ethel looked at him in wonder. "We don't often get a chance of a few minutes together, like this. Ethel, you won't mind if I ask a question. Has there been something wrong lately? Something I have done to—I won't say to vex you, but—don't you know what I mean?"
"No, nothing. I mean—I was not vexed."