arrows--no, like gimlets, "well, you're wrong about one part of it--for
if that ever happens, I'll laugh with you because of the sheer rotten
irony."

For the first time the other noticed how the Governor was dressed--in a
suit of some heavy brown stuff which looked as if it had been sprinkled
and needed pressing. He wore a green tie and a striped shirt of the
conspicuous kind that Stephen hated. Though the younger man was keenly
critical of clothes, and perseveringly informed himself regarding the
smallest details of fashion, he acknowledged now that he had at last met
a man who appeared to wear his errors of dress as naturally as he wore
his errors of opinion. The fuzzy brown stuff, the green tie with red
spots, the striped shirt--was it blue or purple?--all became as much a
part of Gideon Vetch as the storm-ruffled plumage was part of an eagle.
If the misguided man had attired himself in a toga, he would have
carried the Mantle without dignity perhaps, but certainly with
picturesqueness.

"I'll hold you to your promise--or threat," said Stephen lightly, as he
turned from the Governor to his daughter. Why, in thunder, he asked
himself, had he stayed so long? What was there about the fellow that
held one in spite of oneself? "I hope you will be all right again in a
few days," he said formally as his eyes met Patty's upraised glance. In
the warm room all the glamour of the twilight--and of that hidden
country within his mind--had faded from her. She looked fresh and
blooming and merely commonplace, he thought. A brief half hour ago he
had felt that he was in danger of losing his head; now his rational part
was in the ascendant, and his future appeared pleasantly tranquil. Then
the girl smiled that faint inscrutable smile of hers, and the
disturbing green rays shot from her eyes. A thrill of interest stirred