Nearly the half-hour! She stood up and surveyed herself in the
pier-glass. The decisive expression of her great florid face satisfied
her and she thought of some mothers she knew who could not get
their daughters off their hands.
Mr. Doran was very anxious indeed this Sunday morning. He had
made two attempts to shave but his hand had been so unsteady that
he had been obliged to desist. Three days' reddish beard fringed his
jaws and every two or three minutes a mist gathered on his glasses
so that he had to take them off and polish them with his
pocket-handkerchief. The recollection of his confession of the
night before was a cause of acute pain to him; the priest had drawn
out every ridiculous detail of the affair and in the end had so
magnified his sin that he was almost thankful at being afforded a
loophole of reparation. The harm was done. What could he do now
but marry her or run away? He could not brazen it out. The affair
would be sure to be talked of and his employer would be certain to
hear of it. Dublin is such a small city: everyone knows everyone
else's business. He felt his heart leap warmly in his throat as he
heard in his excited imagination old Mr. Leonard calling out in his
rasping voice: "Send Mr. Doran here, please."
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