"But I like them, Miss. They just suit me, and I feed on them."
"How can you? It is more than I can understand."
"You would, though, if you had been treated as I have been. I am Timon, and his sufferings were no greater than mine. His so-called friends were false to him, and so were mine. He cursed them, and I have made his curses mine. I am really Timon."
"Suppose I call you 'Timon,' then," Jean suggested with a smile. "I don't know what else to call you, for I do not know your name. 'Mr. Timon' sounds very well, does it not?"
"Yes, you may call me anything you like. I suppose Timon is as good as any other name. And it suits me, too."
"You must have had a hard life," Jean replied, not knowing what else to say. "It has evidently made you very bitter against your fellow men."
"Hard is not a strong enough word, Miss. You see that copy of the 'Aeneid'? Well, I read as much of that as I do Shakespeare. I like to follow the history of Old Aeneas. Many of his troubles were mine, and truly has Virgil sung of them. He was an exile by fate, and so am I. He had many wanderings, and so have I. He was treated with base ingratitude, and so was I. Yes, Timon and Aeneas are my brothers in tribulation. Like them I hate and curse my enemies."
"But this is a Christian age," Jean reminded. "We are taught by our
Great Master to love our enemies, to bless and curse not."
"What! love King George, that crazy fool? Love a thing that brought on the war? Love a creature with the brains of a mouse? Nonsense. I don't believe the Lord ever meant us to love such a being."
Jean little expected that her quiet rebuke would cause such an outburst. She had always held the King in the highest esteem, as one who ruled by divine authority. To hear him now reviled, was more than she could endure.