His face was turned to the fire, and the young man felt while he
watched him that a piercing light was shed on his character. It was as
if Stephen saw his opponent from an entirely fresh point of view, as if
he beheld him for the first time with the sharp clearness which the
flash of his anger produced. The very absence of all sense of dignity
impressed him suddenly as the most tremendous dignity a human being
could attain--the unconscious dignity of natural forces--of storms and
fire and war and pestilence. Because the man never thought of how he
appeared, he appeared always impregnable.

"I shall not argue," said the young man, with a smile which he
endeavoured to make easy and natural. "The time for argument is over.
You played trumps."

Vetch laughed. "And it wasn't my last card," he answered bluntly.

"The game isn't finished." Though Stephen's voice was light it held a
quiver of irritation. "He laughs best who laughs last." The other had
started the row, and, by Jove, he would give him as much as he wanted!
He recalled suddenly the charges that there was more than the customary
political log-rolling--that there were mysterious "discreditable
dealings" in the Governor's election to office.

But it appeared in a minute that Gideon Vetch was adequate to any demand
which the occasion might develop. Already Stephen was beginning to
regard him less as a man than as an energetic idea, as activity
incarnate.

"If you mean to imply that the laugh may be on me at the last," he
returned, while the points of blue light seemed to pierce Stephen like