in her questions and Polly had
been frank in her answers. Both had been somewhat awkward, of course.
She had been made awkward by her not wishing to receive the news in too
cavalier a fashion or to seem to have connived and Polly had been
made awkward not merely because allusions of that kind always made her
awkward but also because she did not wish it to be thought that in
her wise innocence she had divined the intention behind her mother's
tolerance.

Mrs. Mooney glanced instinctively at the little gilt clock on the
mantelpiece as soon as she had become aware through her revery that the
bells of George's Church had stopped ringing. It was seventeen minutes
past eleven: she would have lots of time to have the matter out with Mr.
Doran and then catch short twelve at Marlborough Street. She was sure
she would win. To begin with she had all the weight of social opinion
on her side: she was an outraged mother. She had allowed him to live
beneath her roof, assuming that he was a man of honour and he had simply
abused her hospitality. He was thirty-four or thirty-five years of age,
so that youth could not be pleaded as his excuse; nor could ignorance
be his excuse since he was a man who had seen something of the world. He
had simply taken advantage of Polly's youth and inexperience: that was
evident. The question was: What reparation would he make?

There must be reparation made in such case. It is all very well for
the man: he can go his ways as if nothing had happened, having had his
moment of pleasure, but the girl has to bear the brunt. Some mothers
would be content to patch up such an affair for a sum of money; she had
known cases of it. But she would not do so. For her only one reparation
could make up for the loss of her daughter's honour: marriage.

She counted all her cards again before sending Mary up to Doran's room
to say that she wished to speak with him. She felt sure she would win.
He was a serious young man, not rakish or loud-voiced like the others.
If it had been Mr. Sheridan or Mr. Meade or Bantam Lyons her task would
have been much harder. She did not think he would face publicity. All
the lodgers in the house knew something of the affair; details had been
invented by some. Besides, he had been employed for thirteen years in a
great Catholic wine-merchant's office and publicity would mean for him,
perhaps, the loss of his job. Whereas if he agreed all might be well.
She knew he had a good screw for one