"I've no doubt there were those at Court who'd have clothed me in purple
and fine linen, and given me wine and milk, but it was my whim to work in
the galleys here, as it were."

"Then I trust you've enjoyed your Botany Bay," answered Philip mockingly.
"You've been your own jailer, you could lay the strokes on heavy or
light." He moved to the veille, and sat down. Guida busied herself at
the fireplace, but listened intently.

"I've certainly been my own enemy, whether the strokes were heavy or
light," replied Detricand, lifting a shoulder ironically.

"And a friend to Jersey at the same time, eh?" was the sneering reply.

Detricand was in the humour to tell the truth even to this man who hated
him. He was giving himself the luxury of auricular confession. But
Philip did not see that when once such a man has stood in his own
pillory, sat in his own stocks, voluntarily paid the piper, he will take
no after insult.

Detricand still would not be tempted out of his composure. "No," he
answered, "I've been an enemy to Jersey too, both by act and example; but
people here have been kind enough to forget the act, and the example I
set is not unique."

"You've never thought that you've outstayed your welcome, eh?"

"As to that, every country is free to whoever wills, if one cares to pay
the entrance fee and can endure the entertainment. One hasn't to
apologise for living in a country. You probably get no better treatment