“Darling!” cried Pete.
“Hush! What's that?” Kate whispered, and drew back on her knees.
“Is the door of the pig-sty open again?” said Pete.
Kate drew a breath of relief. “It's only somebody snoring,” she said.
“The ould man,” said Pete. “That's all serene! A good ould sheepdog, that snaps more than, he bites, but he's best when he's sleeping—more safer, anyway.”
“What's the good of going away, Pete?” said Kate. “You'd have to make a fortune to satisfy father.”
“Others have done it, Kitty—why shouldn't I? Manx ones too—silver kings and diamond kings, and the Lord knows what. No fear of me! When I come back it's a queen you'll be, woman—my queen, anyway, with pigs and cattle and a girl to wash and do for you.”
“So that's how you'd bribe a poor girl is it? But you'd have to turn religious, or father would never consent.”
“When I come home again, Kitty, I'll be that religious you never seen. I'll be just rolling in it. You'll hear me spaking like the Book of Genesis and Abraham, and his sons, and his cousins; I'll be coming up at night making love to you at the cowhouse door like the Acts of the Apostles.”
“Well, that will be some sort of courting, anyway. But who says I'll be wanting it? Who says I'm willing for you to go away at all with the notion that I must be bound to marry you when you come back?”