"Would she do that?" said Derrice, angrily. "Oh, how could she? Has she no pride?"
"She is mad about him, and when a woman loses her head about a man she will do anything."
"I would not have her come here. I would forbid her the house."
"The next time she comes I must talk to her. I dread it, but it is my duty. If she would only let him alone for a time he might recover himself."
"He is a coward,—I have no respect for him."
"Ah, my dear, we all have our temptations. We must not be hard on each other. My poor boy is broken-hearted. I knew weeks ago that he was discouraged about himself, but I did not know what it was. I thought he was too sensitive, and I would not let him talk to me. Yesterday afternoon I went to him,—poor boy, poor boy! He has tried to save others, and he is not saved himself. He says his heart has never been touched. After the shock of his friend's death he made up his mind to lead a better life. With grim determination he entered the ministry, but he had not the power to endure. He has not been born again,—until his whole soul is stirred by divine grace he will not be happy."
"She is a wicked woman to tempt him."
"Pity her, too, dear. She has lived only for her own gratification, and though she has had many admirers she has been cold-hearted."
"He ought to go away."
"Yes; I said that to him yesterday, but he is torn by misgivings. This church is his last hold on spiritual life. The instant he gives it up that girl will marry him. I dread to see him rise in the pulpit now. I fear he will cry out that he is a hypocrite."