Then he took up his work again, too shy to say what the bother was. Mrs. Honeychurch went back to the window.

“Freddy, you must come. There they still are!”

“I don't see you ought to go peeping like that.”

“Peeping like that! Can't I look out of my own window?”

But she returned to the writing-table, observing, as she passed her son, “Still page 322?” Freddy snorted, and turned over two leaves. For a brief space they were silent. Close by, beyond the curtains, the gentle murmur of a long conversation had never ceased.

“The bother is this: I have put my foot in it with Cecil most awfully.” He gave a nervous gulp. “Not content with 'permission', which I did give —