No one had thrust him forward; no powerful friends had pushed him along on his road to power.

No; he was attorney-general, and would, in all human probability, be lord chancellor by sheer dint of his own industry and his own talent.

Who else in all the world rose so high with so little help?
A premier, indeed! Who had ever been premier without mighty friends?
An archbishop! Yes, the son or grandson of a great noble, or else, probably, his tutor.

But he, Sir Abraham, had had no mighty lord at his back; his father had been a country apothecary, his mother a farmer's daughter.

Why should he respect any but himself?
And so he glitters along through the world, the brightest among the bright; and when his glitter is gone, and he is gathered to his fathers, no eye will be dim with a tear, no heart will mourn for its lost friend.
"And so, Mr Warden," said Sir Abraham, "all our trouble about this lawsuit is at an end." Mr Harding said he hoped so, but he didn't at all understand what Sir Abraham meant.