“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 than you deserve, and no worse. One thing balances another.”
The man’s cool impeachment and defence of himself irritated Philip, the more so because Guida was present, and this gentlemanly vagrant had him at advantage.
“You paid no entrance fee here; you stole in through a hole in the wall. You should have been hanged.”
“Monsieur d’Avranche!” said Guida reproachfully, turning round from the fire.