"You must come and dine one day, to meet Vreeswijck," said Van der Welcke.
Brauws' smile disappeared suddenly:
"No, my dear fellow, honestly . . ."
"Why not?"
"I'm not the man for dinners."
"It won't be a dinner. Only Vreeswijck. My wife will be very pleased."
"Yes, but I shall be putting your wife out . . ."
"Not a bit. I'll see if she's at home and introduce you to her."
"No, my dear fellow, no, honestly . . . I'm no ladies' man. I'm nothing of a drawing-room person. I never know what to say."
"You surely haven't grown shy!"
"Yes, almost. With ladies . . . I really don't know what to say. No, old chap, honestly. . . ."
His voice was full of anxious dismay.
"I think it's mean of you, to refuse to come and dine with us, quite quietly."
"Yes . . . and then it'll be a dinner of twenty people. I know."
"I shouldn't know where to get them from. We see nobody. Nobody."
"No, no . . . Well, yes, perhaps later."
He raised his hand deprecatingly, almost impatiently:
"Come," he said, "let's go for a walk."
