"I thought my meaning pretty plain. I mean that I rather think our motives are identical."
"Honestly, Marston, I don't understand you," said Mr. Carmel, after another pause.
"Well, it is simply this: that I think Miss Ware a very interesting young lady, and I like being near her—don't you?"
The ecclesiastic flushed crimson; Marston laughed contemptuously.
"I have been away for more than a month," said the priest, a little paler, looking up angrily; "and I leave this to-day for as long a time again."
"Conscious weakness! Weakness of that sentimental kind sometimes runs in families," said the stranger with a sneer. It was plain that the stranger was very angry; the taunt was wicked, and, whatever it meant, stung Mr. Carmel visibly. He trembled, with a momentary quiver, as if a nerve had been pierced.
There was a silence, during which Mr. Carmel's little French clock over the chimney-piece, punctually wound every week by old Rebecca, might be heard sharply tick, tick, ticking.
"I shall not be deterred by your cruel tongue," said he, very quietly, at length, with something like a sob, "from doing my duty."
"Your duty! Of course, it is always duty; jealousy is quite unknown to a man in holy orders. But there is a difference. You can't tell me the least what I'm thinking of; you always suppose the worst of every one. Your duty! And what, pray, is your duty?"
"To warn Miss Ware and her governess," he answered promptly.