With eyes wide open to the dawn and to her soul she lay hour after hour.  She heard the French clock strike six sharp strokes, and unable to endure her hot bed any longer, she got up, slipped her arms into a dressing-gown, and went down to the drawing-room.  It was filled with a grey twilight, and the street was grey-blue and silent save for the sparrows.  Sitting on the edge of the sofa she remembered the convent.  The nuns had thought her a good Catholic, and she had had to pretend she was.  Monsignor, it is true, had turned the conversation and saved her from exposure.  But what then?  She knew, and he knew, everyone knew; Lady Ascott, Lady Mersey, Lady Duckle very probably didn’t care, but appearances had to be preserved, and she had to tell lies to them all.  Her life had become a network of lies.  There was no corner of her life into which she could look without finding a lie.  She had been faithful to no one, not even to Owen.  She had another lover, and she had sent Owen away on account of scruples of conscience!  She could not understand herself; she had taken Ulick to Dowlands and had lived with him there—­in her father’s house.  So awful did her life seem to her that her thoughts stopped, and she became possessed of the desire of escape which takes a trapped animal and forces it to gnaw off one of its legs.  She must escape from this life of lies whatever it cost her; she must free herself.  But how?  If she went to Monsignor he would tell her she must leave the stage, and she had promised to create the part of Grania.  She had promised, and she hated not keeping her promise.  He would say it was impossible for her to remain on the stage and live a virtuous life; he would tell her that she must refuse to see Owen.  She was still very fond of him, and would like to see him sometimes.  What reason could she give to her friends for refusing to see him? what reason could she give for leaving the stage?—­to do so would set everyone talking.  Everyone would want to know why; Lady Ascott, Lady Mersey, all her friends.  How was she to separate herself from her surroundings?  Wherever she went she would be known.  Her friends would follow her, lovers would follow her, temptations would begin again, would she have strength to resist?  “Not always,” was the answer her heart gave back.  A great despair fell upon her, and she walked up the room.  Stopping at the window she looked out, and all reform of her life seemed to her impossible.  She was hemmed in on every side.  If she could only think of it no more!  She had adopted an evil life and must pursue it to the end.  She must be wretched in this life, and be punished eternally in the next.