“Yes,” he said, “it is; because that’s a question you could answer for any one. I’ve only asked you if Miss Enderby is—all right.”
This high-handed tone didn’t suit Lexy at all. He was actually presuming to be angry, and that made her angry.
“I shan’t tell you anything at all,” she said, and began to walk on again.
He put on his hat and turned away, but in a moment he was back at her side.
“Look here!” he said. “Caroline told me you were her friend. She said you could be trusted. All right—I am trusting you. I’ve felt, all along, that there was—something wrong. I’ve got to know! If you’ll give me your word that she’s safe at home, I’ll clear out, and apologize for having made a first-class fool of myself; but if she’s not, I ought to know!”
Lexy stopped again. Their eyes met in a long, steady glance.
“I can’t answer any questions this morning,” she told him. “I promised I wouldn’t.”
“Then there is something wrong!” the young man exclaimed.
He was silent for a long time, staring at the ground, and Lexy waited, with a fast beating heart, for some word that would enlighten her. At last he looked up.
“I’ve got to trust you,” he said simply. “Caroline meant to tell you, anyhow. You see”—he paused—“I’m Charles Houseman, the man she’s going to marry.”