e
contrary, it seems to me that Vetch is telling us the things we have
known about ourselves for a very long time. He says the world might be a
better place if we would only take the trouble to make it so; if we
would only try to live up to our epitaphs, I believe he once remarked.
He says also, I understand, that he is trying to climb to the top over
somebody else; and when I say 'he' I mean, of course, his order or his
class, whatever the fashionable phrase is. Now, unfortunately, there
appears to be but one way of reaching the top of the world, doesn't
there?--and that is by climbing up on something or somebody. Even you,
my dear Stephen, who occupy that high place, merely inherited the seat
from somebody who scrambled up there a few centuries ago. Somebody else
probably got broken shoulders before your nimble progenitor took
possession. Of course I am willing to admit that time does create in us
the sense of a divine right in anything that we have owned for a number
of years, as if our inheritance were the crown of some archaic king. I
myself feel that strongly. If it came to the point, though I have said
that I am too old to fight for distressed Virtue, I should very likely
die in the last ditch for every inch of land and every worthless object
I ever owned. When Vetch talks about taxing property more heavily I am
utterly and openly against him because it is my instinct to be. I refuse
to give up my superfluous luxuries in the cause of equal justice for
all, and I shall fight against it as long as there is a particle of
fight left in my bones. But because I am against him there is no reason,
I take it, why I shouldn't enjoy the pleasure of perceiving his point of
view. It is an interesting point of view, perhaps the more interesting
because we think it is a dangerous one. To approach it is like rounding
a sharp curve at high speed."

As he rose to his feet and reached for his walking stick, Stephen
remembered that in England the Judge was supposed to have the fine
presence and the flashing eagle eyes of Gladstone. Were they alike also,
he wondered, in their fantastic mental processes?

"It's time for me to go, Corinna," said the old man, stooping to kiss
his daughter, "so I shan't see you until to-morrow." Then turning to
Stephen, he added with a whimsical smile, "If you are so much afraid of
Vetch, why don't you fight him with his own weapons? What were you
doing, you and John, when the people voted for him?"