Idiot that he was! He had
forced his company upon them, when, more likely than not, they much
preferred to be alone. Oh, tactless idiot! Now they would never be
able to walk in the garden without a suspicion that he was observing
them.
He all but resolved to pack a travelling-bag and leave home at once.
It seemed impossible to face Irene at luncheon.
When the bell rang, he stole, slunk, downstairs. Scarcely had he
entered the dining-room, when he began an apology; after all, he
could not go this afternoon; he must work; the sky had tempted him,
but----
"Mr. Otway," said Irene, regarding him with mock sternness, "we
don't allow that kind of thing. It is shameful vacillation--I love
a long word--What's the other word I was trying for?--still
longer--I mean, tergiversation! it comes from _tergum_ and
_verso_, and means turning the back. It is rude to turn your back on
ladies."
Piers would have liked to fall at her feet, in his voiceless
gratitude. She had rescued him from his shame, had put an end to all
awkwardness, and, instead of merely permitting, had invited his
company.
"That decides it, Miss Derwent. Of course I shall come. Forgive me
for being so uncivil."
At lunch and during their long walk afterwards, Irene was very
gracious to him. She had never talked with him in such a tone of
entire friendliness; all at once they seemed to have become
intimate.
Pages:
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83