Lexy yawned mightily. She was growing very sleepy, but not for worlds would she go to bed until she had seen Caroline. She lay down on the divan, her hands clasped under her head, and let all sorts of little idle thoughts drift through her mind. Now and then a taxi went by, but this street in the East Sixties was a very quiet one. The house was so very still, and there was nothing in her own young heart to trouble her. Her eyes closed.
She was half asleep when the sound of Mrs. Enderby’s voice in the hall brought her to her feet. It was a penetrating voice, with a trace of foreign accent, and it was not a voice that Lexy loved. She went out of the library into the hall.
“Did you enjoy—” she began politely, and then stopped short. “But where’s Caroline?” she cried.
“Caroline? But at home, of course,” answered Mrs. Enderby.
“At home? Here?”
“But certainly! She had a headache. At the last moment she decided not to go with us. You were not here when we left, Miss Moran.”
“I know,” murmured Lexy. “I had just run out to the drug store; but—”
“She went directly to bed,” Mrs. Enderby continued. “I thought, however, that she would have sent for you during the course of the evening.”
“Oh, I see!” said Lexy casually.
At heart, however, she was curiously uneasy. Mr. Enderby stopped for a moment, to give her some kindly information about the opera they had heard. Then he and his wife ascended the stairs, followed by Lexy; and with every step her uneasiness grew. She was sure that Caroline would have sent for her if she had been in the house.