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Updated: June 16, 2025
Ever since Vetch's election, it had seemed to her that the pack of hungry politicians had closed in about him; and only the day before, when she had gone over to the Governor's office in the Capitol building, she had run away from what she merrily described as "the famished wolves" waiting outside his door.
What troubled her was not so much the riddle of Vetch's personality as the fact that there was another mental world beyond the one she had always inhabited, and that this other world was filled, like her own, with obscure moral and spiritual images. As she approached the club at the corner she saw Benham come out of the door; and stopping the car she waited, smiling, until he joined her.
Somewhere long ago, in a dreadful nightmare, she had smelled that cloying scent and seen those half-shut eyes looking back at her. Somewhere and yet it was impossible. She could only have imagined it all. Suddenly the woman spoke in a thick voice. "You are the Governor's daughter? Gideon Vetch's daughter?" "Yes. Mr. Gershom told me you wanted to see me." "Mr. Gershom?"
What the oppressed want is not freedom from oppression, but the opportunity to become oppressors." Was this only a mood, she wondered, or was it the expression of a profound disappointment? Sympathy such as John Benham had never awakened overflowed from her heart, and she was conscious suddenly of some deep intuitive understanding of Vetch's nature.
I heard voices on the deck above me, and though I could not catch what was said, I distinguished Vetch's clear, high-pitched tones. Doubtless the crew were keeping a careful watch on the shore, but very likely they had heard the crashing of my horse when he fell, and Vetch might be flattering himself that the beast and I had shared the same fate and that he would set eyes on me no more.
"Put on your cap, Humphrey: we'll go and look into things and hint that we must change our attorney." So he and I set off together. But, early as it was, Sir Richard Cludde had been before us. When we entered Mr. Vetch's office, there was the burly knight with his hand on the door, flinging a parting word at the lawyer, who sat behind his desk with his wig awry, the picture of harassment and woe.
You talked a great deal about humanizing industry a vague phrase which might mean anything or nothing, since humanity covers all the vices as well as all the virtues of the race. Benham could use that phrase as oratorically as you do, for it rolls easily off the tongue and commits one to nothing." Vetch's face lost suddenly its rigid gravity, as if he had suffered a rush of energy to the brain.
"I have a genius for being a chaperon." When she had gone, and they watched her car pass the monument, the girl turned back into the hall, with her hand clinging tightly to Vetch's arm. "Father, what do you suppose that message meant?" "Is it obliged to mean anything?" "Things generally do, don't they?"
Then he stopped and fell back, for the girl was shrinking away from him with a look of fear. "I can't talk now," she answered, smiling with hard lips. "I am tired. I can't talk now." Running ahead she went down the steps, through the gate, and into Vetch's car which was standing beside the curbstone. "She's worn out," explained Vetch.
It was not the things one did that made one appear unrefined, he had concluded at last, but the way that one did them; and Patty Vetch's way was not the prescribed way of his world. Small as she was there was too much of her. She contrived always to be where one was looking. She was too loud, too vivid, too highly charged with vitality; she was too obviously different.
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