I was standing over him; and he shrank back into his chair, his coward lips quivering with fear.
"Your Majesty," he quavered.
"'Impostor' you called me a moment ago; you have changed quickly."
"I did not mean it, your Majesty."
"Good God! Haven't you one redeeming feature, are you such a coward too?"
He did not answer but looked at me imploringly.
"You need not be afraid, I won't touch you. I hoped you would have one manly attribute, but it appears you are absolutely despicable; you are so low in all your thoughts that I almost pity you. Is there any way in which you could be helped to realise what a vile thing you are, I wonder--I suppose not?"
He still sat white-faced and quivering, and made no answer. As I looked at him, I felt my loathing and disgust turn almost to compassion--he was so hopeless, so contemptible. My anger, too, had passed.
"How much do you owe?" I said.
"Eh?"