thing and she suspected he had a
bit of stuff put by.

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."

All his long years of service gone for nothing! All his industry and
diligence thrown away! As a young man he had sown his wild oats, of
course; he had boasted of his free-thinking and denied the existence of
God to his companions in public-houses. But that was all passed and done
with... nearly. He still bought a copy of Reynolds's Newspaper every
week but he attended to his religious duties and for nine-tenths of the
year lived a regular life. He had money enough to settle down on; it was
not that. But the family would look down on her. First of all there
was her disreputable father and then her mother's boarding house was
beginning to get a certain fame. He had a notion that he was being had.
He could imagine his friends talking of the affair and laughing. She was
a little vulgar; some times she said "I seen" and "If I had've known."
But what would grammar matter if he really loved her? He could not make
up his mind whether to like her or despise her for what she had done. Of
course he had done it too. His instinct urged him to remain free, not to
marry. Once you are married you are done for, it said.

While he was sitting he