in spite of oneself."

The Judge appeared to acquiesce. "I am inclined to think," he observed
presently, "that the quality you feel in Vetch is simply a violent
candour. Most people give you truth in small quantities; but Vetch pours
it out in a torrent. He offers it to you as Powhatan used to take his
Bourbon in the good old days before the Eighteenth Amendment--straight
and strong. I used to tell Powhatan that he'd get the name of a drunkard
simply because he could stand what the rest of the world couldn't--and
I'll say as much for our friend Gideon."

"Do you mean, my dear," inquired Corinna placidly, "that the Governor is
honestly dishonest?"

The Judge's suavity clothed him like velvet. "I know nothing about his
honesty. I doubt if any one does. He may be a liar and yet speak the
truth, I suppose, from unscrupulous motives. But I am not maintaining
that he is entirely right, you understand--merely that like the rest of
us he is not entirely wrong. I am not taking sides, you know. I am too
old to fight anybody's battles--even distressed Virtue's."

"Then you think--you really think that he is sincere?" asked Stephen.

"Sincere? Well, yes, in a measure. Nothing advertises one so widely as a
reputation for sincerity; and the man has a positive genius for
self-advertisement. He has found that it pays in politics to speak the
truth, and so he speaks it at the top of his voice. It takes courage, of
course, and I am ready to admit that he is a little more courageous
than the rest of us. To that extent, I should say that he has the
advantage of us."