For the rest of the day he endured the humiliating discomfort of contrition. He was honest with himself. He made no attempt to excuse his behavior. There was no excuse for it. He had behaved like a cad. There was only one thing to do and that was to grovel as soon as possible. It would be an undignified proceeding, but he was quite ready to do it, if he could be certain that the performance would be accepted in the right spirit. It was not easy to grovel before a person who turned her back on you, looked out of the window and refused to listen to what you had to say.
When evening came he decided that he might do worse than make a reconnaissance of the enemy’s country under the guidance of an armed escort—in other words, that if he paid a visit to the Curtises’ with his father he would be able to see April without having the embarrassment of a private talk forced on him.
And so when Mr. Whately returned from the office he found his son waiting to take him for a walk.
“What a pleasant surprise,” he said. “I never expected to find you here. I thought you would be spending all your time with April now.”
Roland laughed.
“Well, as a matter of fact,” he said, “I thought we might go round and see the Curtises together.”
“And you thought you wanted a chaperon?”
“Hardly that.”
“But you felt shy of facing the old woman?”
“That’s more like it.”