"I hope so too, auntie; but this is not the point with me just now. I want to get credit, from you at any rate, for a little bit, perhaps only a very little bit, of moral heroism or courage." "Well, Walter?" "Ah, now, auntie, that `well' didn't sound well. I'm afraid I shan't get much credit or encouragement from you." "Let me hear all about it, dear boy," said his aunt kindly. "Why then, you see, I made a foolish offer, and might have backed out of it; and if I had done so I should have pleased my father and saved my money, and not have encouraged one of the biggest scamps going, and have been spared a lot of chaffing and ridicule. But you see I had given my word, though it was only half a word after all, for I never dreamed that Gregson would have taken me up as he did. But rather than break my word, I stood by what I had promised, and got all sorts of bother and trouble by doing so. Now, wasn't that something like moral courage? Don't I deserve my laurels?" "It was something _like_ it," replied his aunt gravely. "Is that all, auntie? Wasn't it the thing itself? You know there has been no dash or mere impulse here. I've had a deal of patience and forbearance to exercise, and these are quite out of my line." "Yes, I see that; but then, Walter--" "But then, Aunt Kate, it wasn't moral courage after all." "Do you yourself think it was, dear boy?" "Well, I don't know; I should like to think it was, but I am almost afraid. What should you call it, dear aunt, if it wasn't truly moral courage?" "I fear, dear Walter, you will think me very hard and unfeeling if I say what I really think." "Oh, no, no! speak out, auntie--let me hear the truth; you are never really unkind." "Then, Walter, I should call it obstinacy, and not moral courage. You made a promise, and you would stick to it through thick and thin, let the consequences to yourself and others be what they might, just because you had said it. Was it not so?" Walter turned red, and looked very uncomfortable, and for a little time made no reply. Then he said hastily, "And what _ought_ I to have done?" "Well, my boy, in my judgment," replied his aunt, "you ought to have listened to your father, and to have withdrawn your offer, and to have borne patiently the shame and the annoyance this would have brought upon you from your friends Gregson, Saunders, and others." "Ah, I see; and then I should have shown real moral courage. What's the difference, then?"