"Why do you?"
"Begorra, I don't know. I am always lending. I lent a low-browed, hang-jawed spalpeen of a Belgian priest two pound the other day, and sorra a halfpenny of it will me mother's son ever see again. Hark!"
There were voices approaching the lodge—the voices of two uneducated persons quarrelling; one that of a man, and the other of a woman. They both made so much out in a moment. Charles recognised the voices, and would have distracted the priest's attention, and given those without warning that there were strangers within; but, in his anxiety to catch what was said, he was not ready enough, and they both heard this.
The man's voice said fiercely, "You did."
The woman's voice said, after a wild sob, "I did not."
"You did. I saw you. You are a liar as well as——"
"I swear I didn't. Strike me dead, Bill, if there's been anything wrong."
"No. If I thought there had, I'd cut his throat first and yours after."
"If it had been him, Bill, you wouldn't have used me like this."
"Never you mind that."