Again the voices of the two people in the front parlor broke on Podge's ear:
"You must leave me, Mr. Van de Lear. You do not know the pain and wrong you are doing me."
"Agnes, I came to say I loved you. Your beauty has almost maddened me for years. Your resistance would give me anger if I had not hope left. I know you loved me once."
"Sir, it is impossible; it is cruel."
"Cruel to love you?" repeated the divinity student. "Come now, that's absurd! No woman is annoyed by an offer. I swear I love you reverently. I can put you at the head of this society—the wife of a clergyman. Busy tongues shall be stilled at your coming and going, and the shadow of this late tragedy will no more plague your reputation, protected in the bosom of the church and nestled in mine."
Sounds of a slight struggle were heard, as if the amorous young priest were trying to embrace Agnes.
Podge arose, listening.
The face of Duff Salter was stolid, and unconscious of anything but the game of cards.
"I tell you, sir!" exclaimed Agnes, "that your attentions are offensive. Will you force me to insult you?"
"Oh! that's all put on, my subtle beauty. You are not alarmed by these delicate endearments. Give me a kiss!"