“Do so, by all means. You will relate the story of my life, and I will relate the story of your life. I wonder which will prove the more interesting.”
“Oh, I wonder,” rejoined Caliphronas, with consummate impudence; “but do not let us quarrel, as I may want your assistance. Oh, you need not frown; I have no ill intentions towards your precious friends. In fact, to put you completely at your ease, I may as well tell you Justinian sent me to England.”
“Justinian!” repeated Crispin, with a start. “Well, what of that?” he resumed carelessly. “You know I am not now friends with Justinian,—I have not seen him for nearly”—
“Three years, eh?” said Caliphronas quickly; “of course, that is just about the time you came here. Oh, I heard all about you in London; and Justinian will have heard also by this time, for I wrote and told him all.”
“I trust he is pleased,” said Crispin grimly.
“As to that, I don’t know. True, his goose has turned out a swan, and now, unlike a swan, sings songs the world listens to; but such glory can hardly compensate him for the ungrateful manner in which you treated him.”
“Enough!” cried Crispin hotly, his dark face flushing with anger; “I can justify my conduct amply, but I do not choose to do so to you. Leave Justinian, and Melnos, and all the old life alone. I want to know the reason of your presence in Roylands.”
“Well, you shall know. But do not get furious over nothing,” said Caliphronas mockingly. “I am afraid you have lost all your old Hellenic calm, and now resemble one of these bad-tempered Englishmen, devoured with the spleen, and greedy of money.”
“I am not greedy of money.”
“Eh? oh, I see! you sing your songs for the smiles of women, not for the gold of their husbands, fathers, and brothers. Well, I agree with you; the smiles of women are very delightful, but one cannot live on them, so I would like to know how you exist.”