"Of course--if you can really spare the time."

"Thank you."

He shut down the window, turned away, stood in an agony of shame.
Why had he done this absurd thing? Was it not as good as telling
them that he had been spying? Irene's absolute silence meant
disapproval, perhaps annoyance. And Olga's remark about his ability
to spare time had hinted the same thing: her tone was not quite
natural; she averted her look in speaking. 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."