"Certainly," replied Olga. "We were just talking about it."

A moment's pause--then:

"Would you let me go with you?"

"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."

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. Yet
there was another change less pleasing to the young man; Irene talked
as though either she had become older, or he younger. She counselled
him with serious kindness, urged him to make rational rules about study
and recreation.

"You're overdoing it, you know. To-day you don't look very well."

"I had no sleep last night," he replied abruptly, shunning her gaze.

"That's bad. You weren't so foolish as to try to make up for lost time?"

"No, no! I _couldn't_ sleep."

He reddened, hung his head. Miss De