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Even to her untrained eyes it was evident that Vetch
possessed the authority of personality--a sanction that was not social
but moral. Some inherent dislike for anything that was not solid, that
was not genuine, had served Vetch as a kind of aesthetic discrimination.
"I know Benham," Gershom was saying eagerly. "I've worked with him.
Smart chap, don't you think? Ever heard him speak?"
"No, I hate speeches."
"Did he and the Governor have any words?"
"Of course they didn't--not at dinner," she replied with a crushing
manner. "Father is waiting for you."
"Then you'll see me to-morrow? I've got a lot I want to say to you. And
I'll tell you this right now, Patty, my dear, you may run round with
these high-faluting chaps like Culpeper as much as you please; but how
many dinner parties do you think you'd be invited to if I hadn't put the
old man where he is?"
At this she turned on him furiously, her eyes blazing through their
greenish mist. "I don't owe you anything, and you know it!" she retorted
defiantly.


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