"I am a deacon who has not taken the vows, and I am a man who loves you with his whole soul!"
She paled, and then flushed to her temples. She cast her eyes down, and seemed to be struggling for self-control. He did not offer to touch her, although his throat contracted with the intensity of his effort to maintain his outward calm. Then she looked up with a smile light and cold.
"We are not called upon to play Filippo and Lucretia in reversed parts," she said. "I am not trying to tempt you away from your calling. Wouldn't it be better to talk about the weather?"
He was unable to answer her, but sat staring with hot eyes into her face, feeling its beauty like a pain.
"It has been very cold for the season during the past week," she went on.
"Miss Morison," he retorted hotly, "I had no right to say that, but you needn't insult me. It is cruel enough as it is."
Her face softened a little, but she ignored his words.
"Tell me," she remarked, as if more personal subjects had not come into the conversation, "what are the chances of the election? I hear so many things said that I have ceased to have any clear ideas on the subject at all."
Maurice sat upright, throwing back his shoulders. This girl should not get the better of him. He lifted his head, his nostrils distending.
"It is too soon to speak with certainty," he responded; "but it is in regard to that that I came—that I was sent to see you this afternoon. We are under vows of obedience at the Clergy House."