For the thousandth time, as she twisted in the great chair, my lady wondered whether it was really too late to humble herself, to grovel in the dust, and make confession. There was an obstacle which rendered a tardy repentance impossible, at least until it was removed. That long-cherished match between Shane and Doreen must be accomplished first; then, perhaps--but surely it could not be so absolutely urgent! Time, so far, had brought with him only a complication of troubles, more tangled than his usual fardel. Where was his all-comforting finger, about which the poets have raved? Sure he would relent, and spare the countess the supreme sacrifice. Not that so far he showed much sign of relenting. This idea of Doreen's about a secret marriage, which had sent the blood tearing back to her aunt's heart, was an extra knot in the web that was smothering her. Norah must be put away; Shane must be seriously exhorted to observe his cousin's charms. Of course she would never marry Terence; nobody wished her to do so. This my lady decided comfortably, on the principle that we easily believe that which we desire. How could Arthur Wolfe be bolstered into showing greater strength of character, and induced to obey his sister? If she were to tell him what she knew of Doreen, to impress on him by this means that a speedy marriage was necessary for her.--No! That would not do. He would be capable of carrying her off in a fright to London, Paris, Rome--anywhere out of temptation's reach. Then, again, the dowager reflected on the chances of who Norah's father was; and again her agony ascended to a paroxysm. At all hazards so awful a shadow as this hideous new one that loomed must be exorcised. How? Mrs. Gillin was brutish and pitiless, of course. Why did she encourage this terrible flirtation? She could not realise, surely, the sharpness of the tools with which she played. Come what might of it, it was plainly her duty, for everybody's sake (so the chatelaine pondered), to take Madam Gillin to task as to her present conduct.