Some unionists saw Seamus Mallon's resignation as Deputy First Minister as "a fit of pique". True, when nettled he will respond in kind. There is an abrasiveness about the man, a strong sense of self and self-worth that won't allow any real or perceived slight to his dignity pass without robust response.
Those in the Trimble camp, not surprisingly, have a rather jaundiced view of Mallon's resignation. They said David Trimble was genuinely shocked by his move. They claimed that in any case Mallon was losing his verve for the job, and was regularly frustrated with "John Hume looking over his shoulder". They do not expect he will return to the post.
But his resignation on Thursday was characteristic of the man, and, his colleagues insist, founded on matters more substantial than a sense of his pride being affronted or his energy being sapped. Certainly, they added, there was exasperation and annoyance in his action but he walked away from his £62,000 salary and ministerial office for solid reasons aimed, somehow down the line, at salvaging the Belfast Agreement.
Incidentally, the Northern Ireland Office lost no time in stripping Mallon of his ministerial trappings. According to some sources, he was asked to vacate his office within minutes of his announcement to the Assembly. However, yesterday the NIO said no ultimatum had been made to get him to leave his office and he was still using it.
In either event, he lost his ministerial car pretty quick. It was removed at 3 p.m. and his driver redeployed to other duties.
In recent months he has spoken of the marrow being squeezed from the political process, of the Ulster Unionist Party and Sinn Fein fighting "each other to a standstill" on disarmament and in so doing damaging "their own internal strength and cohesion".
To inject some lifeblood into the process there had to be a dramatic act. And Mallon himself, a former playwright and amateur actor, knows how to ensure he is centre-stage. "He had to make an impact, to make people realise how serious a business this is. As Seamus said himself, so that the agreement would not fade away he had to go out with a bang and not a whimper," said one SDLP insider.
There were two powerful images in the Assembly chamber on Thursday. The first was David Trimble's empty chair, signalling for those who supported the Belfast Agreement unionist renunciation of the deal, notwithstanding Trimble's insistence that all is not lost.
Such a bleak image had to be balanced by a symbolic act even more potent. And Mallon, white-haired, pale-faced, by delivering his statement of resignation with strength and dignity, paradoxically succeeded in energising a torpid, depressing, farcical occasion. He properly altered the drama from comedy to tragedy.
For several months now the relationship between Mallon and the First Minister, David Trimble, had been strained virtually to breaking point. Theirs was an odd alliance. During the discussions leading to the ill-fated Way For- ward document they made a show of unity by together strolling out of Castle Buildings, Stormont, taking in a ramble through the press tent as well. This, though, may have been more a show for the cameras. Mallon has lived his life in the unionist heartland around Markethill in Armagh, and better than most nationalists he has a good understanding of the unionist psyche with all its complexities. There was a period at Westminster when Mallon and Trimble were fairly thick.
Shortly after Trimble's election as leader of the Ulster Unionist Party he was ignored by some Westminster colleagues. Trimble, according to well-informed sources, sought companionable solace by entering Mallon's office for the occasional chat.
But in the 12 months since Trimble and Mallon respectively were appointed First and Deputy First Ministers that relationship appears to have soured. On a Channel Four documentary broadcast in January Mallon said of his working relationship with Trimble: "It's very difficult to have a rapport with him outside of doing business with him."
He said Trimble had "a personal requirement to always be right". This is illuminating because Mallon is also a politician with great confidence in his astuteness and political gifts. One can easily imagine a clash of intellects and wills. "Mr Mallon proved very, very difficult over the last eight months," said Trimble's deputy, John Taylor, yesterday.
Mallon and Trimble are temperamentally, culturally different. In a sense they fall into the Catholic-Protestant, nationalist-unionist stereotypes. Trimble is a barrister, a logical man, rather pedantic, principled, shy and self-conscious when acting outside the political sphere, and sometimes difficult company even within a political environment.
Mallon said of him: "I think he somehow or another doesn't have the capacity to communicate with people, not on an academic basis or political basis, but on a human basis."
Mallon, certainly crusty and cussed at times, is nonetheless easier and more engaging company. He, too, is principled, but perhaps more pragmatic with it. He'll enjoy an argument over a few glasses of whiskey, he backs horses - politicians and journalists made a few killings following some of his tips during the interminable rounds of talks in recent years.
He enjoys a joke. Typical of Mallon's deadpan delivery is the response he gave after loyalists painted graffiti on his home at Markethill. "Hang Mallon - F... the Pope", it read. "I think I got the better deal," he said.
Mallon is also a good poker player. Indeed, the capacity to gamble and to know when to make a wager may be at the heart of the cultural difference between himself and Trimble, and on the broader canvas between nationalists and unionists.
As far as Mallon was concerned Trimble and the pro-agreement unionist community were on a sure thing when Sinn Fein signed up to the principle of all paramilitary weapons being decommissioned by May 2000. Republican sources also said the IRA would decommission, and Mallon, Bertie Ahern and Tony Blair believed them.
It was an offer, even if it was crafted with some ambiguity, that the republican movement could not renege on without losing all sympathy and support; apart, of course, from the hardline elements that will never desert the Provos no matter what they do.
That was the argument that Blair, Ahern and Mallon the gambler tried to convey to Trimble and his colleagues. If the Provos were really bluffing at least have the courage to call their bluff. But Trimble is not the sort of man one imagines shuffling a full deck around a green baize poker table. No bet.
In the end, to make his point, Mallon, with his hallmark passionate integrity, had to take the ultimate gamble by forsaking a position of power that he has coveted throughout his long, dedicated, but frustrating career. No regrets, he said yesterday.