I looked at his cheque with disgust.

That a man turns out better than you expected is no reason why you such not be annoyed that your conception of him is shattered.

You may be gratified on general grounds, but distinctly put out on personal ones, especially when your conception pointed to his inevitable removal.

That was the way I felt.
The cheque stood for so much more than its money value.

It stood for a possible, nay, a probable capacity in Armour to take his place in the stable body of society, to recognize and make demands, to become a taxpayer, a churchgoer, a householder, a husband.