"It's like you!" broke out Miss Cardigan. "Ever since you were born, I think, you did what you liked, and had what you liked; and threw over everything to get at the best."
"On the contrary," said Thorold, "I was always of a very contented disposition."
"Contented with your own will, then," said his aunt. "And now, do you mean to tell me that you have got this prize—this prize—it's a first class, Christian—for good and for certain to yourself?"
I lifted my eyes one instant, to see the sparkles in Thorold's eyes; they were worth seeing.
"You don't think you deserve it?" Miss Cardigan went on.
"I do not think I deserve it," said Thorold. "But I think I will."
"I know what that means," said his aunt. "You will get worldly glory—just a bit or two more of gold on your coat—to match you with one of the Lord's jewels, that are to be 'all glorious within'; and you think that will fit you to own her."
"Aunt Catherine," said Thorold, "I do not precisely think that gold lace is glory. But I mean that I will do my duty. A man can do no more."
"Some would have said 'a man can do no less,'" said Miss Cardigan, turning to me. "But you are right, lad; more than our duty we can none of us do; where all is owing, less will not be overpay. But whatever do you think her father will say to you?"